Is this a transcendence? Wind
that slaps at my attention, gets my eyes tracking these escapees towards an
empty nest of sky. But along the way, tall cardboard cutout mountains stick
their brooding stillness in my sight. An alarm-of-my-heart suddenly swoops, looking
up to encounter my eyes only as windows to look out through. Dare, who is it of
me to reach through these self lens, to lick these visibles as honey. Yet each
outward glance brings me tears. These tears stand at my heart on tiptoes. They
stand in shoulder to shoulder gratitude. They are an inward way with
outward-ness. I fumble with my fragile-bowing-from-within. My inward embrace
performs itself. My breath becomes a stalwart sheath of presence, swift in the
mingle, the merge, the unify.
Being separate from anything, makes orphans of us all . . .
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