this
certain disregard
sweeps of attention
over blind repetition
still it stops
sees
this
sweeps of attention
over blind repetition
still it stops
sees
this
Skimming the perfect surface of the inner lake, I turn from observer to inscriber, to the ripples. It’s all in there, all of it. The waiting, the latent heat of recognition and the inevitable cooling in understanding. Everything in between, rising up, settling, dissolving
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