Loneliness
is a grieving cast away
with a boat that accepts only joy
for oars.
When you cannot row,
become still
and silent like the trees
and the rain-blackened soil and fallen leaves,
all quiet,
blending in
like the moss-matted logs beside the lake
listening to the waves fall asleep and wake.
Say nothing–
you are a stone,
a branch bowing to the higher,
a spiral of steam rising from the fire.
You and It
are one,
and there is no “away”
to be cast from.