Whatever made me thinksome flimsy structure I'd erect
could withstand the flow
of seasons, tides
and wind-blown sand?
The spirit has its own rhythms:
any attempt of mine
to block,
or redirect
must eventually fail,
casting as it does so
a long shadow
across the beach at the edge of belonging.
Yet still you lap at my boundaries,
inviting me to join the flow:
Dive in, and swim: spread your wings
and lift your feet
away from the shifting sands
of time and ego.
* * *
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