Slipped into sidestream,
seeing larger like photograph but
unable to navigate away and
back to source. Floating outward,
feeling smaller, more
detailed. Words being boats
in moats of daily living, drifting
in and out of mouths. Sounds
are steering, clearing pathways
toward understanding, landing
in ears fit to accept them. Pesky
sentences incomprehensible,
denied. Simple life made longer
by modern medicine when
all is getting brighter. Dark lines
disappearing, colors melting into
blankness. Giving solace.
Grieving, playing, relaxing.
Taste of many, mostly same
again, again. Tasting sour,
unclean, inedible. Smelling
simple, green, single cells.
Forward moving, thinking,
feeling. Connections to
the greater, one and many.
Networks, breathing, sleeping,
birthing, dying. Making
love. Making connections.
Being fruitful. Fruitful
fruitflies feeling fixated.
One another. Another one.
Same yet different, longing
for, lasting. Looking back.
Forward at beginning,
backward at end. Hopeful
and then wistful. Love
after lunch. Will miss him.
Looking back now, being
wistful. He was and is.
See him soon. See him
happy.
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