Never Missing

A woman sits

by the window,

tea warming her hands

without promise.

Mountains rest

in the distance—

unchanged

by all that has passed

before her noticing.

Steam rises,

then disappears—

a life

complete in its leaving.

She once believed

there was somewhere to arrive—

a place

where everything

would finally settle.

But the tea was warm

then too.

The sky just as wide.

Days slipped through her fingers

like water—

not lost,

only never held.

A bird crosses

the space between peaks—

no thought

of where it will be next.

She drinks.

Nothing resolves.

Nothing needs to.

The mountains remain distant,

yet fully present.

And somewhere

in the quiet

between breath and sip—

she notices
this moment
has never been missing.