Yesterday, I walked like a flying bird,
Without warning, a warm draft
Brought me to a place I didn’t know,
Dried my feathers, heated up my heart
Not moving,
A wing pivoting — an inch
And everything is lost.
FJ – March 2022
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Everything? Perhaps nothing is lost. Only changed, as all changes and continues in a constant wheel of becoming. Resting on some perch is but to observe the process.
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