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Thursday, December 14, 2023

Beyond, Sonnet #618

There is so little that is right here,

I might suspect there’s nothing more.

Everything grows within the sphere

Of my eye — ocean crashing shore.

What’s far is near, what’s then is now,

Eating a pear is taking a vow.

Can I leave it at that, the I

Looking through the window at trees,

And nail thunderclouds to the sky

With a hundred thousand me’s?

Ego was never so rewarded

Choosing to lose what it’s hoarded.

Some say there is nothing beyond,

Ignoring our interstitial bond.

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