IN ALL THAT DOESN'T
HAVE TO BE
Living like this within a world of objects,
I'm expected to sit and stare? Observe?
See? Is that why I managed to be? As
a witness of some reserve, to say little?
Me? How distant that achievement would
be. I loose my tongue before armies.
-
Looking not askance, I note the field
before me : remnants of things from a
relieved, now, past. Last year's twigs
and branches, it will all soon be. The
tired trails of the animals who are no
more, the ones I do not see. But, have
I ever, really? In all that doesn't have
to be, I see my manifold expectations.
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