Nothing seems to come out
perfectly, I can do it right
every time… I know it’s
right because it is
exactly what gets done.

Everything seems to be,
a bridge too far
and I’m anxious that
it should be right,
but is rarely nothing more.

Here is a plum juicy and bright
purple or red so sweet and light

Here is a bird of hope in winged flight
leaving for the moon on a fateful night

Something here, something hidden.

Just like nothing and everything
are the Yin and Yang of
summer days and winter nights,
never one without the other,
together, something to ponder.