a laugh into a dark, sacred movement. there is nothing which plays than what is played; nothing which teaches but that is taught; nothing which moves but that which is moved, lightly. i shake and shudder with the evening’s truth of nature: it is but a giggle at morning’s naivety. and so i tumble and tumble and am lain forth to be tumbling, still. and so i am. and so are you.
good evening, all impending
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