learning from the grandness,
in a conversation of silence,
having no interruptions,
where topics just appear,
as self,
from much inward spokenness.
yet, this does not feel like a monologue.
subject matter always has theme melody.
can't argue with the tonals of delivery, either.
it's like walking in a meadow,
but cannot feel my feet for the ground.
my thoughtful has become an atmosphere.
topics have aromas,
that also have flavors.
it seems I pick the fruit
yet reflectingly,
respect the tree.
some much of wind
travels in a shared silence.
eventually, I leave the audience perspective
and once again,
silence in spokenness,
and I become,
within myself . . .
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