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Calm is not a tick inside a box,

a neatly a mown lawn,

a stabilised heartbeat:

If you look out upon the sea

you will know calm

in the ceaseless flux,

where even in the screaming wave it resides,

just below the spitting froth,

at the apex of its movement,

dancing as the only means to stay aloft

Calm is patient

because there is no end to the work before us

and patience has no content if we must not wait for something to be done.

In our first cries was the ancient song:

‘I am cast out here alone,

And in my loneliness must work,

Until I find my way back home’.

And then we gnash the teeth and pull the hair we never asked to grow,

Failing to remember,

Life itself never had a choice


Holding up my life with nearly-breaking back,

yet all the while a smile,

I remind myself:

‘That which is

must be,

until it is no more’

(and blandly state the truth until I understand)

I breathe,

and in the gentle automation,

Feel the motion of the earth.


I see that,

in the end,

I could do nothing else

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