When all thoughts…

by a. noelle

like the little stream ephemera


 

Are exhausted

I slip into the woods

And gather

A pile of shepherd’s purse.

 

Like the little stream

Making its way

Through the mossy crevices

I, too, quietly

Turn clear and transparent.


Ryokan

i slip into the woods words ephemera

through the mossy crevices words ephemera

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