The Blue Book

Remember To Breathe

I have so little to say
about a year of long afternoons,
blue and purple and dusty orange.

So little to say
about what it meant
to sit and play with feeling,
to wade, overwhelmed,
through the ordinary.

To wander, way in,
and walk that old path,
flower-lined and well-kept
by an old gardener,
asleep in the shade
of a gnarled apple tree,
hat tilted over eyes.

We don’t need to know
how to remember
any more than we need to know
how to breathe.

From roadtrips and recollections
to the raw memory of forever
and a new faith found in letting go:
we make ourselves between,
bound and boundless.


Wabi Sabi