Invincible.

A poem.

Be the poet, make the art, sit back and witness.

We sometimes need to pause to see.

Walk slower than you would. Now, half that. And half that again. Until maybe, perhaps, you’re totally still.

What’s wrong with her! They’ll say.

They’ll gnash their teeth at the pool of knowing inside you, unable to snag water with bladed bone.

Sometimes you’ll waver, like the ripples in your own pool. For nothing is solid, not even your knowing.

And that’s what makes it invincible.

Your knowing may have its moons, its waves, its froth but it never dries. Never brittle.

Your knowing is alive.

It stretches on like the ocean and beyond. A starry fathom further.

Standing still is the rebellion, is the walking toward, is the witness of all life.

The breath, bated, never ceases.