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.
