When the circumstance takes
on a salience, as a
crushing pressure, then one,
addled by the possible closures,
the tangles that might
snap taut in a loop
or other unfigurable construct,
then one
dreams of drift-logs far at sea
where room can wear drifts out
winds change
and few places show one can’t
embark
from and then one thinks finally
with tight appreciation
of nothingness
or if not that far of
things that loosen or come apart.
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