Writing a poem

is not writing.

It is waiting

without waiting.

Let thought fall away.

Let yourself fall away.

Enter emptiness.

Noise becomes rhythm.

Rhythm becomes seeing.

One thing.

Only one.

The world gathers

into a single word—

flies, returns,

becomes meaning.

In the stillness,

I lose myself.

Then finally,

I am myself.

The poem flows out.

I simply follow.

No more in or out