As water about to boil is cloudy with intent and heat

I sometimes quake at the appearance of the world about me,

a numenous dread of power unshown.

perhaps a brief moment of spiritual vanity,

to pretend to a sense of things far larger than me

something beneath and beyond and

written of as fact in a thousand books and holy writ.



Ours is a body of time,

some live within the veins and organs of the body

ranging over the vast skin of a penumberal kingdom within

and without;

still, the thin line is woven through my thoughts

by ghosts and proper souls alike.

And time through arteries and organs in my body

spins and wobbles

weaves and feasts

on a hundred intentions unfollowed each day.



Having arrived at every decision through care

and a certain amount of divine indifference,

God's shoulder remains a place to lean upon-

process completed,

from sufficient to unnumbered to overrun;

we recognize ourself again

as if from the outside.

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