I keep returning to 3 A.M.
Millions mingle here,
some plunging toward slumber,
that verdant mist of crickets,

others rising in curves of
radiant oblivion
that bend to no asymptote
of thought or word

in the womb of no practice,
no prayer, where tree frogs
listen but do not peep,
and raindrops neither cling nor fall,

suspended in their glistening –
no sigh of “Thou,” nor inhalation “I,”
but a trembling stillness
that enfolds the green earth

like an infinitesimal tear 
in the vigil of my eye
that has never closed
since the birth of wonder…

Dear one, by mere silence 
be reminded how our work is
simply not to fall asleep,
the task of love.