A Pebble Falls

A monk sits

beside still water.

No wind,

no thought—

only the surface

pretending to be whole.

A pebble falls.

Circles widen,

touching shores

that were never separate.

Below,

it descends—

not as an ending,

but as a path

no eye can follow.

Each turning

meets something new:

cool depths,

hidden currents,

the quiet pull of below.

The monk does not watch

for where it lands.

Ripples fade.

Depth remains.

What sinks

does not vanish—

it travels

where stillness

has always been moving.