by Max Reif

I like to read a short story
not so much for the theme or plot,
but for when in the middle of it all
the character, whoever he or she
happens to be, takes
a moment and just looks out
over the landscape, toward the horizon.
That’s when, all stories forgotten,
I can feel myself, too:
simply here.

Max Reif was first surprised to pull his car over and give birth to a poem in 1968 at age 20, not even knowing he was pregnant! He continues to seek, (in the words of Meher Baba) “to penetrate into the essence of all being and significance, and to release the fragrance of that inner attainment for the guidance and benefit of others…” Some of his stories, poems, jokes, reviews etc are at www.REALnothings.com