Sunday 2 June 2013


Still Point
Leaving home for work each day
I hear the trees say “What’s your hurry?”
Rooted, they don’t understand
how in my world
we have to rush to keep in step.
I haven’t even time
to stop and tell them
how on weekends, too,
schedules wait like nets.
It’s only on a sick day
when I have to venture out
to pick up medicine
that I understand the trees,
there in all their fullness
in a world unpatterned
full of moments, full of spaces,
every space a choice.
This day has not
been turned yet on the lathe
this day lies open, light
and shadow. Breath
fills the body easily.
I step into a world
waiting like a quiet lover.
- Max Reif

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