Like cleaning waves of water
with the same: entering
a feeling into a room of feeling.
Admitting to love with
a finite mouth. I want to ask
partnership with all things:
that I should have what is true
before me, that I should see
what I need. Nothing
washes life from itself.
We chase these thoughts until
they go clear, make circles
with sponge on glaze, sense
lather unbinding both
our hands: enter again
the running stream.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 15, Issue 3.
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