The Still Surface

The water does not speak,
yet it holds everything.
A body enters-
and the world reduces
to temperature,
to skin,
to breath finding its rhythm again.
Outside:
systems, structures, wars of meaning.
Inside:
nothing insists.
The surface trembles once-
then settles into a quiet agreement:
you are here,
and that is sufficient.
No becoming.
No proving.
Only the slow recognition
that even coherence
must sometimes dissolve
to remain true.