On the breakwater,
the winter sun at high noon,
the light strips things to
transparency: soul
reading the bright page of keen
attention, there is
a forgetting of
self, cold, my presence, there’s just
the flowing passage.
On the breakwater,
the winter sun at high noon,
the light strips things to
transparency: soul
reading the bright page of keen
attention, there is
a forgetting of
self, cold, my presence, there’s just
the flowing passage.