Everything is Speaking
image by artisimo
The hot afternoon air
sings a sticky song of sweat
whose lyrics keep repeating
slow down, slow down
but my drowse does not bring stillness.
The vermilion gladiola in my vase
says it blooms from the bottom up;
toddling, not bursting, into blossom.
Same as me, except
it harbors not a single doubt.
The voice of the Robin at dusk
trills serenity.
No rehearsal, no regret.
An acceptance that I
cannot myself yet replicate.
Weary I feel, wondering how long.
And everything around me
seems to answer
in a single voice:
As long, dear one, as now.
©Susa Silvermarie 2026
image by Gab-Rys
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