Bones creak as sinews stretch,
searching for new limits.
There is pain in this, of course.
Heeding the advice of the practiced
is good ground for discomfort.
The small goals take time,
new routines and repetition.
Once, I set a timer for ten minutes,
tried to still and silence a mind
that never stopped moving.
The first attempt went poorly.
Engines roared through the night
as cars passed by, modified
by seventeen-year-olds
who have never known work,
bills or a budget.
The sound fades. Sirens follow.
The second time was the same:
ten minutes, after midnight.
All things human are porous.
The mind is no exception.
A man told me to imagine
a train rolling by.
He said let it pass.
The thirteenth time was better.
Centering prayer held it together.
It frayed at the edges, seconds peeling
with each minor distraction.
Quiet, slow breaths sharpened into silence,
fleeting moments of kind clarity.
In the distant night, a hymn
of all ever-humming things
plucked strings of eternity.