these still, static beings

To me, the man said look:
The mountains.
These still, static beings
are never the same.

The light hits a new angle
or shadows appear
in brightness
And it snows.

To me, I think okay:
This vessel.
This grounded, collected being
irresolute underneath.

Your words attain a new limb
or love appears
in my own trembling
And I exhale.

in awe