You are raised up in life by your love for peace
You then hummed for humane discretion
The pink of the air was the pink of the words
Customs do, for you, as a distinctive contentment
An infinite percentage of dissolving waves you take in from
time
A calming porcelain is made by space with purity
An event of teaching, accepting, losing, reality
The view of the sky opening its unwarranted ears beneath
you
(Listen)
I dream of what my life needs and am hungry
As I catch up my tenderness I have missed
Process
Detection strengthening
in early morning’s shadow, long
night would be gone,
the leisure retired underneath it
—whoever that might be—
Leaves of a new world
under the same database:
could you unleash that:
redo window covering of
minimal finials?
*
Minimal time when
entries without maps
find it: I Ching,
Chinese philology, the ideals
to life from synchronicity
in German: temporal,
when Nietzsche lashes out
sophisticated scholars
from continual agnates,
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