Wind in the Grasses

Because the world has beliefs, it has shadows. Because shadows move, questions follow.

They say a belief is fragile, that touching it unravels the air. But the air is unravelling anyway— wind in the grasses, breath in the mouth, a wave subtracting itself from the shore.

Because people believe, I try to listen; because listening is a form of respect, I open a small space in my silence. But inside the space the belief expands, asks for immunity, asks for the right to decide what a life is worth.

Because ideas want power they trade their names for banners, fly flags, claim ground, amass concrete, deny weather.

They name and rename happenstance, argue over what endures, petition the invisible— and still wind in the grasses, breath in the mouth,

And the truth remains small— a stone washed smooth, held between fingers, feeling time beyond measure.

I look upon the human, let belief rise like vapor in the ever-changing light, and let the changing do its work.