Concentration throughout the cosmos—extended selves,
sore involved, undercut, flowing light. If thought is similar the gravity made
heavy, assumed as true—the cage inside, the broken bars the bold beautiful
spirits. Couldn’t escape it. Couldn’t see it. I just sensed the loss, the
leniency, the essence blowing in the breeze. More ashes, rolled mud, like
living was possible—the culture of the cat, the nature of the dog, the hassle
of the sage. Amazed to have been there, with blueberries growing, made purple
and blue; frozen over, like glaciers, looking at the same paragraph; shocked by
philosophies, rereading sentences, looking at structure; the man walking, is
the man sitting, the final resting is the coffin. I just sensed the loss, to
see it in atmosphere, while neither reckoned fully with time. The soul made
hectic, the hills howling, the want that never comes to fruition. The agitation!
