Poem #3
It is true that things
Sometimes really happen
Trees fall over
Floods mess with rocks and branches
Fungi and invertebrates
Do their patient work
Stillness is a door
Perfectly clear from both directions
On each side, appearances
To one side what may happen
To the other what might have been
The door itself
We sometimes name
lily, apparatus, dewdrop, bone
Because of the door’s perfect clarity
Names slide off
Either towards completion
Or regret
Piled at its base
A compost of experiences
Attests that stillness moves
Not with things
But through them
