The Shape of Inner Knowing
Brandon Cook
I had continual intuition, as a child, like a radar receiving recognitions, constantly,
Of some shape, taking wings, out there, beyond the trees
They came to me like pockets of air, unexpectedly
When, for instance, I placed my empty cereal bowl in the sink and
Looked up, out the kitchen window, where a squirrel leaped to the next brown-leafed tree
The branch bobbing on the morning with its weight, like a buoy in the sea
I would sense something, out there, calling out to me
The whole street sits so quietly
And while everything rests, everything, also is moving imperceptibly
Even the tree has its slow, still breath,
Like the waves, like the sea
The flower pushes up from its roots, the oak strains up, just so,
But in-between it all, these little invocations come
These unbidden calls,
Like a nighthawk that only invites on sight, and gives no sound
They bid you to slow down
And to simply watch
Everything, after all, is like bird-watching
It takes a certain, slower speed to see much of anything
And there is always something waiting
Rising in the very shape of our desire
Just beyond the next horizon
Just beyond the sea
Waiting for the moonlight
As it rises through the trees