The Intention

It was always there – my Intention,
lying beneath many layers,
reluctant to be seen

Layers I never wanted
that covered the shyest hint
of something wanting to be free.

An Intention watching me while I gazed
open-eyed at a calm afternoon’s trace
outside my window,

Looking past lawn and lavender,
past the little step
where the cat would hide,

Past the siphon of cool air rising
from tumbling shadows
curried with indistinct worries.

Worries that could never
console or comfort or pour
even the palest cup of tea.

I saw it tucked in my heart,
protected from a loud, hurried voice
asking for something more.

One day I saw pain
wearing my Intention into fading
turning it inward, away,

Soon to be out of reach,
like a point on the horizon
a troubled painter paints.

And then panic to find it again.
foolish me, foolish mind,
foolish wanting.

I had to tip my horizon,
spill that point into my palm,
rolling like mercury’s evanescence

Until it stayed there shy
as a barely-steaming spoonful,
untethered like loosened light.

Making known (as you know yourself
awake in bed each morning)
that there is only one Intention,

One rising that lifts and
breathes into you a joy
curving thru each moment

Making known
(as you know yourself
lying in bed each morning)

That there is only one Intention,
one rising that sets you breathing,
cups every morsel

Of you, of stillness.
unlayered, unwaiting,
and understood.