Listen

Listen
silence; words unuttered; synapses firing,
the woods breathe,
here I feel,
everything stirs; nothing
  stirs,
wind; needles; boughs; branches,
the crisp evergreen breath,
the whisper of morning light through the pines. 

Here
I
am;
here
all
are. 

My impression, the impression I leave, is not my own
   but the shape of the world removed
   the space bequeathed, allotted,  gifted, for "my" existence.

The mind divided is too loud;
fear of life
being in tumult
noise of "self"

Existence is a subtle breath
  whispering to our nothingness

We need
 only listen