Here Is Everywhere

I

Gazing beyond the openings of the southern hedge,

the slow tides roil the strand with worn shapes.

Strange, like a memory.

 

II

When you begin to arrange the things

and call them

this and that,

you start to forget

that the world,

and the things in it,

have no name.

 

III

Variety is an illusion born from oneness.

Difference is the mask of the faceless.

No thing exists without a name

yet

nothing in the universe has a name.

 

IV
Wherever you stand,

the world finds purchase.

 

V
Move, like an arrow shot from no bow

and you will see: the earth has no end.

 

VI

All distances are one.

 

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