' while waiting to find the knowing of the thing in itself
my fingers turn to clay.
stars gleam outwards
from the dried earth
into the words
that i have learned
by heart
and light the way
back.
i spend my spring morning
picking out pieces of the universe from my cold hands; gratefully. '
my fingers turn to clay.
stars gleam outwards
from the dried earth
into the words
that i have learned
by heart
and light the way
back.
i spend my spring morning
picking out pieces of the universe from my cold hands; gratefully. '
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