No, I don’t need nothing,
no, nothing I don’t already hold.
O, whether tomorrow,
O, ever tomorrow uncontrolled.
One moment of deep repose—
a thick jungle of lawn between my toes,
a paper glider landing on my nose,
curling colors of a painted wing grow,
Until they fill they screen,
and draw me in
to a place unseen,
where I’ve always been,
to somewhere so serene,
complete within,
and evergreen.
When I want too much
of what I’ve missed
to be content
with what exists,
I must remind myself
to savor this wholeness.
No, I don’t need nothing,
no, nothing I don’t already hold.
O, whether tomorrow,
O, ever tomorrow uncontrolled.
