field research

I don’t know where this wind has been, but it blows strength into me.
Maybe it’s time I considered my intangibility.
Empty seed pods in the grass say,
“Once I loved; that time is past.”
It’s difficult to bear, but even harder to believe.

Every death is a vacancy sign in the world of the alive.
On this round earth, there’s not one place where something hasn’t died.
And all the words of all the humans
keep the dead things close to you, but
Beauty waits for no man’s pen and needs no awestruck eye.



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