Sunday, September 28, 1997


stringing from corners, empty spaces in between a mystery
shattering that agony of the void
pure and simple
without words, a language of the soul
naked and vulnerable, authentic and real, truly seen
in the moment of a glance, gazing made whole
yet what pivoting on times
for separation, for learning, for wondering, for the sake of the name
set, from edges of chaos
written into my hands
with your string, your staff, dancing sparks sealed with truth
and books with your story smelling uniquely of you
releasing that roaring cacophony of jumbled stones, set free
evolving souls and a story embraced lishmah

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