Ice to mist

The ice melts into mist,
A formless, fleeting thing,
Yet still it holds the same
Potential as the spring.

The mind that is open,
Unbound by thoughts and fears,
Can see the clouds as they come
And go in myriad ways.

It is not caught up in
The past or the future,
But simply notices the present
As it unfolds with grace.

This is the mind of peace,
The mind of joy,
The mind that knows itself
To be the vastness of the sky.