On a Quiet Morning
The river learns the shape of stone
by touching, leaving, touching again.
No hurry in the widening light;
the heron stands where reeds grow thin.
We read the world in borrowed words
and call that reading understanding—
yet every page the wind has turned
was written without our commanding.
So let the cup sit empty awhile.
Let silence fill it if it can.
What rises from the untouched mile
is more than any hurried plan.