The Only Ones You Need
They hover around us and stick to our clothes. They move with rhythmic certainty, an army before dawn, moving slowly down unmarked roads. If you concentrate, turn off the headlights and dim the volume, they can be seen huddling together near the crests of bridges.
Here is what matters: they will wait forever for your response. They are the pattern on the forest floor when the first leaves decide to fall into dark green. They are the energy left inside a memory that lifts its curtain when you sigh in the late afternoon. They are what happens just before a seed opens in the soil.
They are in your hands now. They move across your skin and rest in the hollows of your body.
They like you.
They are the only ones you need.
They are waiting.