When my mind is softened by
lack of sleep, oversteeped tea,
I wish my forehead read “please
handle with care,” cause, often,
I forget to pause, to breathe,
forge forth, not fall back, receive
quiet moments as secrets
with the cosmos, a release
from smiles gilded by honey,
see the beautiful, heedless
refuge of breath beyond plea,
akin, instead, to a tree
growing, till, all at once, it
stands and speaks. “I am the key,”
it says. “I am what I seek.”