The Mist Forgets Itself

The koi forget themselves

beneath the quiet water.

The mist forgets itself

among the reeds.

Neither asks

where one ends

and the other begins.

Being

is enough.

Dusk gathers

without a sound.

The mountains soften

into shadow.

The wind slows,

as though listening

to the silence

between the trees.

From the still pond,

the lotus opens

its final bloom

to the fading light.

It does not fear

the coming night.

It has never argued

with the turning of the world.

A dragonfly

rests for a moment,

then is gone.

The ripples return

to stillness.

The clouds surrender

to the stars.

Nothing is gained.

Nothing is lost.

The koi continue

their ancient circles.

The mist rises

to meet the evening sky.

The lotus remains,

rooted in darkness,

offering its flower

to the light.

No hand arranges

this perfect balance.

No mind sustains it.

The world has never needed

our approval

to become whole.

It simply breathes,

and in its breathing,

all things find

their proper place.

The pond grows still.

The last light fades.

The first stars appear.

And the universe,

without intention,

without effort,

is exactly

as it should be.