I am not a lesson for others. I am not a lesson
For me. I am not a lessening. I am not a thing.
There’s the tiniest point of intersection between
Introspection and imagery. The deepest, darkest
Forest that can never, except as allegory, be
Understands this in its extended twig tips,
In the ends of its symbiotic rootlets, quivering
Because of a squirrel jumping, a wriggling worm,
The tiniest whiff of incidental wind. The forest,
The forest. You see? If you enter, you can
Neither stay forever nor ever leave.
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