The smell outside a bakery.
The look we can’t see
but know in someone’s eyes
when they might like us.
The breath a singer takes
between the notes
by which we know
they’re one of us.
The silence of the owl.
The way you slip between
what I know and what I say.
The way you stand,
like winter behind autumn,
unseen behind the evident,
the space never anticipated
between
when I am absolutely certain
and what I know for sure,
consistently suspecting.
The peace at the calm heart
of my not knowing,
knowing there is more—
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
November 4, 2019