Sweetly we stay, in places we left long ago.
A drifting wave, thoughts travelling the unknown.
A sleepy sea, longing for certainty.
A silence in the space,
And a separation from us.
But who is us, or I, or the boundary in the lines?
For I notice, I am not separate to the sky.
But perhaps it is I who has been drawing the line.
Oh, wont you tell me, just one more time?
No, I say, as I walk across the line.
With the sky in my hand, and into peace, sublime.
Agate Amara 