We think
Still air forebodes
Hearts slow, lungs expand,
Chests heave and waists strain.

The interior world is shut

Antennae point outward
Sweeping horizons
– for what?
Just movement

Still water conceals

And obscures currents
And a curious rumble
A single pebble

Still souls open

To a single moment
A dimensionless point

A self unraveling

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