There are moments like these, in the white point of the storm

where the sky and earth kiss behind the mist, form one

and you have to close your eyes to see etched in the darkness

the sparks of sunlight reflected across the snowy peaks

Beauty is in your own hands, and everything touches.

Others when you are between two corners of a table

you slice an apple into quarters, almost perfectly divided

don't hesitate about who you'll give the biggest piece to

and when you do they smile, because things are clear and cut

and you put the block-like core to compost.

you cannot slice through a storm, so when you lose sight of heaven and earth

when the alaskan glaciers pave every street, when the seeds are uprooted

will you stay in the house you love

fix up the peeling wallpaper, cut the remaining apples into cores

or will you go, right into the white point of the storm?

Currents move on with or without you, storms will stop and start,

And as you hesitate, the choice is made for you

So go, stay, slice, choose to close your eyes or open them,

the only error is to falter, and not admit

that you see where the mist starts and the corners begin