a moment passes, (of quietude), and it passes-through each one
of us — those who sit, and those who do not sit, alike; straight-
through, as The Singularity of Life: a thread, as It is Being woven
from one point to the next .. passes — tea steeps. steam arises of

the kettle, (it is quietude), out there beyond the whistle .. and,
though a potted-plant still grows, still, it will grow out-of its still-
ness — sat upon the windowsill — further to the room. this ledge
holds, also, a geode that we smashed with a hammer one eve’ning;

a photograph; a jar of fine Cannabis; incenses to burn; (the quiet-
ude); an empty book of matches, and a dozen other dreams —
ten-thousand miracles, and Its Eternal One-Ness .. then, the dog

        barks — yet, it is not dis-quieting ..