It is in the sitting still
we see the shadowed windowsill.
The rumpled grass
the bunny left behind.
The floating seeds of a dandelion.
And so this morning, I admit
it’s no mean feat (me thinks)
to see what I see, as I with broken foot, sit.
And sat.  Imagining this is this.  And that is that.

Poem by Jamie O’Reilly, 2018