The Truth About Tigers

It’s not pleasure, not really.
More the absence of pain—
the way a tooth feels fine until the ache returns,
and you realize how good fine can be.

Not contentment, but the absence of fear.
Not confidence, but the lack of comparison.
Not peace, but a brief reprieve
from wanting things to be any different than they are.

The Buddhists might call it the end of craving.
I might call it the pause between songs,
when the silence still hums from what came before
and the next note hasn’t yet claimed the air.

I try to remember not to chase fireworks,
to remember that the truest freedom
is the moment after the flash—

when everything goes dark again,
and the night feels endless
and kind.