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The end, for a day, multiverse, melding, molten moments, meandering, murmuring, memory, moments, mediated through a depiction.

Fragments forming, dissolving, a continuity, our bodies, our thoughts, composting, and from our body of thought, an articulation, a composing, a shoot, a leaf, appearing.

This page, sense, sensing, sentences.
Another sense. Sentient being. Still, moving.
Words framing, forming, another sense, a presence.

So, here I am, hum along tunes, voices.
Coffee, water, pen, notebook.
Holding, this moment, embodied in mind.
This feeling of being here. Walking here.
To come to know some things of what is said. In so many different ways.

The past has been, become compost.
Darkness of under ground, and night
opening into a landscape, this light of day.

I sip the last of my water, coffee cup empty, the pen has come to rest in its shadow. Words on a page, to be reread, rewritten, rearranged, another day, today.

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