Not Hidden, Only There

These hands know paper, cup, and door,
the weight of work, the waiting chair;
yet linger with them something more—
not hidden, only always there.

Attention turns no stone to gold,
nor makes the common world divine;
it clears the noise, then lets us hold
what waited quietly for time.

Perhaps the world needs no new light,
but eyes grown patient with the slow—
to stay with what is plain in sight
until we see how much we do not know.