the wise
man says
as he sits with his arms
out,
legs folded.
his long beard gone grey.
his eyes a soft
religious
blue
like pale water of a sunlit
bay.
he's neither happy or sad.
he's
nowhere
and fine with that.
possessions
mean nothing.
love may leave
or love may stay.
it makes no difference
to hime.
he's
in a place we dream of.
we read about,
we
write about.
and hope to arrive one day.
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