Be still. And know.
The wisdom says.
Good wisdom, stillness.

But some nights my skin is too jumpy
and knowing seems too far away.
I have to move, to walk,

to push past the door
and the neighbor’s floodlights
and the tallest trees

and take step after step up the dark path until I can see.
Her.
There.

Close, relatively speaking.
Her satellite beams shimmering through the night
as they have for millennia

while people long forgotten gazed at her light.
I marvel at the way she gazes back
from among stars or clouds.

Shifting, watching, breathing,
awareness expanding to the motion of
seas and orbits and how we’re each, somehow, both small and needed.

Some knowing arrives in stillness, without seeing.
And some seeing leads to greater knowing,
in the right light.