begin to hit Jupiter
I realize how many
beings graciously
join to anchor me
in this form.
The lift of my hand
in a conversation
reveals the gestures
of countless others
hidden within, life
gesturing, gossiping
about itself, to itself
over cups of tea
in a circle of light
that is all center
and no periphery.
This moment, then:
arms on the table,
the hum of the fan,
too late to be up
but how to stop
unwrapping the gift
when it keeps
hurtling into itself
from itself
like this?
