a series of differently sized doors

bodies bumping
throughout space.

we think
ourselves
so separate,
yet
the wind blows
right through us.

smaller bodies
drift right through us,
oblivious
to our borders,
benevolent
in their trespasses.

we think
ourselves
so separate,
we bump
our bodies
up against each
other,
for pleasure.
for pain.
for procreate.

we think
ourselves
so separate,
yet
the wind blows
right through us.
smaller bodies
drift right through us.

we think
ourselves
so separate
yet
we are all just
bumping bodies
throughout space.

tiny leaves, all in a row.

Published by Zak

an intertidal island in an ocean of impermanence.

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