Poem: Meditation

mb47-Meditation1It doesn’t matter if there are no fish, in streams or rivers that I pass. I often stop, and stare awhile, imagining where they might lie, behind which rock, or run or riffle. Sometimes I think I almost see them, even though they don’t exist.

It doesn’t matter if there’s only this one breath breathing in and out. With each breath, I often stop, imagining what lies ahead, or else behind, not fish, but fears, quick-silver darting, tails flashing. Sometimes I almost think I see them, even though they don’t exist.

—Sarah Rossiter

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