in the lake of tomorrow:
head down and kicking
I glide right by
the beauty of today --
ears full of the wet wash
of not-good-enough-yet
I fail to hear the siren call
of the palaces of presence.
Vision blurred --
this is not where I was born
to see and breathe --
I never even notice
the perfect golden ripeness
of this moment:
right here,
right now.
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