when a long journey is a single thought,
unrelenting but not repeating,
just sober into a cloudburst,
a rolling thunder of a throat clear,
distant but embracingly inclusive.
what would words to it have offered,
that feelings have not already spoken?
what a ship of fools never saw
as happening?
what a flight of doves
never took their eyes off of in passing?
what address was given
that had no numbers?
what account was left unsaid,
that a season of the year spoke about it?
and we could have named an unborn
in code by that meeting, eye to eye.
would that have added
a dimension of embrace
but not as closure?
would that
that crossed the lucidity of mind,
so fervently,
yet still wet
from a past-lifetime approaching?
in that it stretched the reality veil
beyond disguise?
and I then thought myself
to finally be,
burden free? . . .
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