The arrow leans without weight,
and the wall holds its breath.
Where you were going,
you have already arrived.
The folds remember light
as if it were a story
no one told,
the rust listening for something else.
Signs forget their names
and wear themselves down
into the silence you carried here
before you knew it was yours.
Nothing points,
nothing stops.
The way follows
itself through you.

Peaks Island, Maine
That is gorgeous. I can’t say that I understand it intellectually, but perhaps I just feel it emotionally.
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Thank you.
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
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