For a moment,
we succumb,
give in, yield
to our senses,
to the unknown—
forgetting everyone
we have been
or may ever be—
to let each second
wash over us
as we consume
each detail
that becomes
our flesh melting
into timelessness
gone beyond
any hope
to hold its shape,
waiting to explore
that prolonged moment
as if in the womb again.
Your words, like a puzzle, lie before me. I look at them over and over, read them again and again, top to bottom bottom to top, begin at the middle and read them outward toward their ends: I know these words but this morning I am not able to name that which I am feeling, thinking, doing . . .
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In reaching for new ground, I may have taken too big a bite.
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Your comment is well taken, Peter, thank you. The poem didn’t make much sense when I got back from Miramonte yesterday, too much in my mind, I guess. The rewrite is posted.
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