In the middle of imagination
lies a field where clover grows
where I am free to wander,
to lie down and inhale
the green, growing goodness
and know life unbound;
my spirit swells
with the utter, unfettered joy
of non-commitment.

I observe
the unconscious desire to breathe–
in and out–
in and out–
life, simple, silent, absorbed into earth below,
    clouds above, air around…

But all this is in the middle of imagination—
not here at the office
not in the living room where I push and pull the vaccum,
not here at the dermatologist,
    where another spot is scraped for biopsy,
not crowding into another plane
    to make my way to the next conference.

Where are the people
who inhabit the fields
in the middle of imagination?

How do I become one?

Text and image © 2012 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.