Stopping

I begin again,
listening.

What is the word 
that wants to be
written on my heart?

Not for always.
Maybe just for
today.

Beloved, perhaps.
“Beloved is where we begin,”
the poet said.

Forgiven, perhaps.
For the things I do,
or don’t do.

Serenity, perhaps.
Freedom from wanting
things to be different.

Perhaps, today,
I begin again
a thousand times,
*stopping*
as the place where
I begin.

Stopping
the struggle,
the thrashing about,
the trying to get it right.

Stopping.
Breathing.
Listening.

It is enough.