NeuroDivine

A poem with reflection

The heat flows close upon my brow,
A tide I did not call;
It shimmers like a river‑gleam
That moves through reeds and all.

My blood runs low, a thinning stream,
A hush of ebbing grace;
Perhaps my tablets stirred the tide
This drifting, watery space.

The world becomes a tidal hush,
A pool of ancient calm;
I breathe, I rest, I let the cool
Flow through me like a psalm.

Reflection

Some poems begin with an idea. Others begin with a moment.

This poem was written while noticing the quiet, physical sensations of heat, weakness, and waiting. Rather than resisting them, I observe them with gentleness. Water becomes the central image. The rise and fall of the tide, the streams that ebb, and, finally, the cool stillness of a psalm, they all become part of the sensation.

The poem is neither a hymn nor a prayer, but a small act of paying attention—a reminder that even our most ordinary bodily experiences can become places of reflection, where we learn to breathe, to rest, and to receive the present moment with grace.