No one considers the weight of Mondays.
The rain of yesterday vanishes—
a whisper swallowed by wind.
There is only this:
the hallowed circle of breath,
a communion of fur and dust,
a chorus of bodies
spinning the sun in their orbit.
Let the heart leap.
Let the earth tremble on paws.
There is no instruction
but to fall fully into this
wild rhythm of now.
Here, among concrete tables
and paths worn thin by joy,
we remember—
how simple the teaching,
how ancient the truth:
Love requires no reason.
Heaven is just this—
a tail wagging,
a tongue lolling
the sweet salt of the present.
This moment:
all breath and soil,
all tongues and tails,
a small kingdom of wonder
where joy is no one’s master,
and we belong to nothing
but boundless air.
