by on October 9, 2022 :: 0 comments

Was   listening to hear the grace
That one morning   was
Left, the empty shoes
of a traveler’s journey
If I went there
Everywhere, I   was
And nowhere   was
Far enough
Was   in the act of creation
Me,   into myself
Thinking nothing,
Or anything else mattered
To me
Or me to them

editors note:

What was is still. – mh clay

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