OK. Breathe deep.
Sigh of release.
Back from the surge of exertion
fall
the elements of me —
falling to rest,
falling to quiet.
In a while there will be little stirs —
What has this meant?
How have I changed?
(though for now I’m less than eager
to inquire)
Maybe who I am
is the feeling of the movement
and of the stillness,
not as a form that moved and stopped
but as the impulse
in and of itself,
as active in the stillness as the racing,
as undescribed as waves
thundering home.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 6, 2014
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