Flowers under foot,
clouds in the sky.
Here, in between,
I savour solitude.
They are busy with their business,
while I am merely watching,
listening, with nothing to wait for.

There is a weighty stillness
inside of me
as of a hunk of old granite
in the midst of a torrent -
all around, the rush of
butterflies and bees
about their ceaseless work.

Do not ask,
Who is this old fool?
for, even if I knew the answer,
it would make no difference.

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