like a part of my face, or a freckle and faded imprint, benign now those times of violent changes in routine that since sublimate into plasma, inside, necessary and unseen.
I am new, with far further rings around me so far so every step hurtles me forward from the once desolate quiet to the brightness of these lotus days: sweet and sharp.
But here now, an itch, a wonder, an ever slight imagining that on this day, at least, something will happen in that other world as far as the east is from the west from mine in the drift and this is all I will allow into the big blank.
It's just strange, such a gulf, so insurmountable now; the huge quiet nothing so far at bay, reflecting.
