Walk through your neighborhood.
Marvel at all the lives that are not yours,
that you know nothing about.
Feel grateful for the ability to imagine
worlds beyond your own.

Unclench your fists.
Let your fingers spread wide,
blood rushing to the tips.

Listen to the sound of the locust
in the trees beyond the road.
Don’t think of their chittering as a plague of noise,
but as a reprieve from the chattering of your mind.

Delight in your neighbor’s garden
where they strung up a disco ball and fairy lights
on the lattice for their pole beans.
Revel in the idea of the nocturnal creatures–
the raccoons, the possums, the bats, and the owls–
who will romp under the dancing lights
of a moonlit mirrorball.

Consider the lilies, the irises, and the pansies
as you make your way down the road.

Let that jolt of nostalgia hit you
as you pass a small playground and remember
when slides and swings were sufficient entertainment.

Don’t worry about whether any of this is a poem–
whether these words are “the best words in the best order.”
Don’t fuss and fret about a future you cannot predict.
Soothsayers never soothed anyone anyway.

Because you see, the only way to slow entropy,
the only way to impede the speed of time
is to get close to your life.

Become a microscope and press your life
between the slides of time, and behold the endless
cells of love that surround you

and say, “Thank you.”