The meditation did not bring me here
I came of an altogether different accord
It was in a way a choice-less choice
Yet I was the one who made that choice, wilfully
With no one else in mind
Compassion then only for oneself
How else might that be
The storms are over
The days, the nights of rolling thunder have died down
The hours, the hours of sheet and fork lightning are over
There is a calmness abroad
Yes, it may well be superficial
If I should explore the surface I may well disturb it
That place, that stillness, that tranquility
Which this early morning gifts to me
Where I am able to think back
To reinvent, to recreate your kitchen table scene
Even earlier in the morning, before light breaks
Moments when I imagine you would sit
To catch your thoughts, in a letter which you send to me
