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an October elm tree
glowing from the inside
mornings
the fresh darkness
at my kitchen table
my toes are cold
this Sunday morning
hot tea in hand
may long dreams and soft skin permeate
bright and early
digging through
a forest of thoughts
broken open
wet yolk spreading yellow
openings and dry soil
like mulch fungus
whole forest fungus
feeding a million trees
I am not here
my ignorance
grows these
structures and
masses
mysterious again
this morning
the dark pail
of riddles
to shake and rattle
it travels down
empty streets
and silent thoughts
a million poets
eager to share
its light
I live in rich hummus
a million beings
covering me
with whispers
I misinterpret
Convictions, beliefs, opinions,
certainties, principles,
rules and habits have abandoned me.
I woke up naked at the edge of civilization
which seemed to me comic and incomprehensible…
Czeslaw Milosz
