It was how they awoke,
Their fingers laced in light
recalling how the color of morning
washed through them with absolute truth
It was impossible to trace the beginning
Though it hardly mattered
Everything that happened
Was a thread of slow successive movements
Where gentle vortex of respire
muted harsh outlines once yin yang
Undulating until tightly wrapped in circle
and rhythmed quiescent
It is what we search for all our lives, they thought
And once calm, there is no reason to search for the end

Words © Malai Carrara
Image by yuri pritisk