The mind may leap five steps ahead,
devices pinging with new messages,
alerts, alarms. But the heart says,
There is no emergency. That muscle
wanting to unclench, aching to flex
as free as the monarch nectaring
on a Mexican sunflower at the cusp
of autumn. Don’t we all long for
space to pause and draw sweetness
from each bright thing in our path?
Don’t we crave the slowness of that
butterfly perched on orange petals,
coming alive in a way it never can
while in mid-air, wings folding and
unfolding their own form of prayer?
—James Crews
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