Is it quiet, as your fingers play with the sunbeams?
Those little dust motes move and dance.
Don't contribute, don't judge, no opinions, stasis is the way.
How long can you stare, unmoving?
Do you grin as each little light settles on your hand and fades away,
As your fingers close in a fist of control?
Or do you flick them aside, watch them float away,
Your body moving side to side, a small infinity, gyrating with you?
Copyright 2008 J Ruana
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