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I. Sutra of Measure
We believe in distance...
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Today
I paused...
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The walls still hold the echoes
of a nine-year-old’s despair...
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The observer and the observed are the same,
yet that sameness cannot be observed...
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Fragrances,
the decalcomania of elegant flowers...
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Why does this wound
never close, never heal...
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What have we become?
How loud, how long, how lost, how numb...
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I made it to the end of the tunnel, and there was...
There was just me and a recurring dream of losing...
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I am moving along a silent sea,
Peace in spite of me...
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And the lover cried out—
I burned my youth...
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When kisses fade,
when love drifts into hibernation...
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My hands upon yours,
upon you...