I keep returning to 3 A.M.
Millions mingle here,
some plunging toward slumber,
that verdant mist of crickets,others rising in curves ofradiant oblivionthat bend to no asymptoteof thought or wordin the womb of no practice,no prayer, where tree frogslisten but do not peep,and raindrops neither cling nor fall,suspended in their glistening –no sigh of “Thou,” nor inhalation “I,”but a trembling stillnessthat enfolds the green earthlike an infinitesimal tearin the vigil of my eyethat has never closedsince the birth of wonder…
Dear one, by mere silencebe reminded how our work issimply not to fall asleep,
the task of love.