Often while reading,

I scan the words,

turn the pages,

and then the book

vanishes, and I vanish,

aware of nothing.

To hold nothing,

and have nothing hold,

I desire this freedom–

a breath unnoticed,

as it is

ubiquitous:

Radiant, without center,

I cannot name

my discontent.

A wind, at my ear,

stills as I turn;

yet, still’s nearby.

(November 4, 2018)