A Hundred Falling Veils

Stillness, I say I want you.
Pond with no wrinkle. Hanging

leaf with no breeze. Mind with
no wheel of thought.

I say please teach me and then
rail against you. Squirm and reach

and whirl. In the quiet field,
I make of myself a wind.

In the silent blue room, I sing.
I climb the balcony with a tambourine

instead of sitting in the garden below.
Stillness, how I rub against you.

The heat builds the longer I sit.
I am sand paper against you. I am

bell. I am red. I am mint. Stillness,
the teachers say you are here

beneath the veils of do and must.
I listen and think I know what they mean.

I turn you into a thought. Stillness,
you leak through this carrying on.

Stillness, I wrestle myself till I sweat.
I shout your name, Stillness, as if

you were deaf. Stillness,
where are you? And where are you not?

The dawn and the night move with you.
I keep bumping against, what?

Oh Stillness, I’m laughing. There you
were in the question, but I went on

with my wondering, my want.

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