1210
25.iv.23
4.115
lost in my own forest
for godsbother
sometimes
a knock but nobody’s there
I call
that religion
ink and
brush
put
distance between
how
many parts come to me
how
much just is?
a
splash for my philosophy
I’ve let this happen
though I couldn’t have meant it
all
not just by myself
had the makings, had the means
and
where the bees bring sunshine
each
year as if surprised from time
was always simple
relative to what’s around
high rising green
pondshone
at trickle
so call creek
paths
fork
it’s
every step just where we are
as ant
processional
to
stop, sniff
make
pleasant exchange
I was
only bitten if they had time to catch
we
haven’t the hours to ripen
they
build this world you know
go
gladly on
return
to where left off
I like a sun shone
breeze beside
nor
falling into faith
just
that I am
a
question ringing in the air
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