A wind, unconsciously passing,
is me me me,
who’s bonded with short-term course,
ordinary as countenance,
sheer as color,
and destiny as inevitability.
Less sane,
a horse would be the chance,
which
grazes grazes...,
sleeps,
dreams;
and when the night with stars falls,
time to die! in peace.
How light,
how dim,
how quiet.
Shhhh...
just just just just just just
feel below the chest.
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