Like water
that becomes a rope
or snake
when you close your hand around
the stream pouring from the end
of a running hose;

like air that furs itself
and shoves its nose
into your palm
when you hold your hand
upright out of the window
of a moving car;

like grass biting
your legs and arms
as you roll upon it,
leaving you stung and itching
for hours —

some things,
once invisible or seemingly
innocuous, come to life
and push back upon you
when you surrender your usual
inattention
and bring them close.

When you let them live,
they live — not entirely
like pets, not entirely
wild:

reminders of how once
we all danced in anticipation
before barely tamed fires
and expected the entire cosmos
to present itself
and begin speaking.

Under the sounds
of the electric fan
and the traffic, the television
and the click of this keyboard,

there is a voice smooth as cedar flute
expertly played,
simple and utterly present
in this room full of noise;

I could turn off everything
and listen more closely,

but I know
there is no song
except that drawn
from out of chaos.

Feeling a strong motion
all of a sudden.
Is it the earth or the body moving?

If it is the earth,
stand still and observe.

If it is the body,
stay alert.

The elephant and turtle,
so long and so often cited
as the carriers of the earth,
are known for slow wisdom.

If the body is moving,
do not disrespect their stasis.

If the earth is moving,
take the ride.

And of the possibility
that both the earth and the body
are moving, perhaps in the same direction,
perhaps at cross purposes,
nothing more need be said except
watch, listen,
and choose the path
to be followed.