Free Will

Here is the perfect prison,
made entirely by [[moon]][[light]]
moving [[through]] the wooden
bars of my balcony
as the baritone ocean busks
for an [[empty]] [[beach]] in the background,
and I am brought to my knees
by the healing birth took me for,
knowing there is no [[way]] out
of this [[moment]]-to-momentness.

A moonlit magic carpet
makes the [[mercy]] of no escape
silver clear:
no beginning, no end,
[[now]]here to [[be]]
but [[here]],
where even crickets insist
on the scented eternity
of this evening.

Traces

• Still mind