Like a light switch, you say.

No, slower. Like how when you put
a blanket down, you should make sure
you’re not crushing native plants.

Thoughtful like that.

Aware there are other things around you
that are delicate.

Not putting on your big boots and charging
up a mountain, but shuffling in sandals,
staying on the trail.

And when you finally find that space
where your head empties of mosquitoes,
you realize you’re no longer on a cliff
but in a field of orange and red

wildflowers. So many
you don’t know the names of.

Like watching the flame dwindle
and the wax drip onto the table,
knowing when things aren’t burning,
they can relax a little, take up some space.