Inconsequential

Some days slip into
that hard to reach space
between the wall and the couch,
between the driver seat and console,
between consequential and
why do I even bother.

A long and busy week
ought to lead us somewhere.

Maybe the path just fades away,
like someone blending into a crowd
or a drop of water vanishing in the sea.

My challenge today is to become present.
So I imagine myself as a boulder,
half-submerged in water,
worn smooth by eternal winds.
Moss grows on my north-facing shoulder.
The sun comes and goes.
The moon and stars cool my face.
Day after day for millennia
I have rested right here.

The stone me who might remember
all the days between this one and that,
will inevitably too disappear
into that abyss behind the couch.

---

This poem was written on September 19, 2025.