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“Wisteria, not wisteria, an open where the lane turns sharply”

Is it?, it is- then less, not more
and beneath our nerve, to have had that way with ourselves
short selling
the humble quality
for others we notice even less

and there, suddenly, is a space that had yet to be moved into
with our impractical sense
this who am (might) our us have been
now not to know, and harshly- some other
type of regard

for when the farthest sound we are capable of still hearing
withdraws itself
to the point we no longer know
anything- us, not everything

is where the world opens up,
this new and unseen (as if to have come from going)
then nothing, now-new
sees again, itslef, closely.

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