Isn’t it so that
every movement
is the nexus of
a crossing guard?

One element, one
lover, comes to
an other — and they
twine, rooted.

One path way, one
road, to another
and there is some
thing new, seen

There, at the point
that this crossmark
signs, the signature
of the simple, yet

Holding much
in the axis; there
is the up, the down,
that which comes

That which goes.
And I see, when
the X stroke is
known, called

Again, that there
is a changing.
This changing
is now, the one

Stability that I
will hold to, the
immanence of
transience, and

The beauty in
that, breathing in
and breath out
moment to moment

Grateful for just
that, just that.
Scribing these
lines, remembering.