How Can This Place

How can this

place, this same

one spot that

carries itself

across the landscape

of extended time

and incremental

turnings of space

hold anything

like meaning and

a sense of indicated

preference.

How is it my

heart stills and

my every cell

relaxes when I

pull into the

treacherously steep

driveway of our home?

Why does the

soul shift toward

calm simply grabbing a

carved oak railing

at their home –

climbing the carpet-less

stairs that echo each

and every footfall

up the center of the

stairwell of three floors?

When did the niche

of moss covered rock,

along the waterfall of

that stream weld itself

to homeostasis;

and, give shear release

of tension gathered

under the skin and the

follicles of every strand

of hair?

The Pleiades

could better stand

a chance at answer

than I. The Ocean

could more readily

explain return.

I do not find the

wherewithal

to suppose I could

speak such

mystery and mirth.

I can lean a bit

into the bliss of locale

by learning to sense

what way the places

I inhabit leave me

to feel. It is there

I can steady my

gaze into to

chasm of the

eternal fields that

occupy each atom;

and align myself

with the

universe of all

arisings that

live in every

here –

along the axis

of all our

nows.