I’ll sit in this contemplation of nothing,
letting the sea salty fog roll over the rocky shores
of my mind.

I’ve stopped searching
for syllables to symbolize my thoughts,
in justifying
to you
my unyielding intuition,
which pulses steady—a ray of sun
cracking through the mist.

Blank.

Fog.

It’s okay.

I’ll sit in the uncomfortableness
of my legs tucked in full lotus,
letting the syllables of what I said pop up like conversation bubbles in a comic,
and then I see them burst,
floating into the receding mist.

Blank.

Fog.

It’s okay:

To breathe in the sea saltiness of air
with each beat of my heart,
resonating in the iambic pentameter of syllables dancing through my mind.

Blank.

Fog.

It’s okay:

To breathe out a sigh of confusion
shaped like a single dandelion seed drifting toward the meadows of spring green,
where it’ll be pulled under the grass blades,
taking root,
and beginning again.

Blank.

Fog.

It’s okay:

To see nothingness is really a no thing,
as the syllables that once symbolized my feelings evaporate into the morning blue sky.

Clear.

Sunshine now.

It was okay to be lost.

 

 

~

Author: Jessie Wright

Editor: Travis May

Image: Flickr/Norbert Reimer