nearly everything.
the fog
lies down in front of you.
the unwashed
sky.
unwarmed
by
a hidden sun.
it feels like sadness
but it isn't.
the stones
below the raw stream
are fine.
it moves on.
the trees
with bare limbs, they
too have
no complaint
bending or fallen
against
the ravages of time.
so much of our desires
and sorrows
are just that,
imaginary things
sitting like
black birds
on the wires of our
mind.
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