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“Mary laughs out loud to herself, but understands that her faucet is broken”

“Mary laughs out loud to herself, but understands that her faucet is broken”

It is true, some of it,
not all of it, not nearly as much
as I would have thought, long ago
would be-

Unsure of myself, then and now
my ability to translate my experience
into something endurable
(note: that is the wrong way to say it. I should have said empathic, connective.)
The first truth should not be erased,
but made note of, alongside the original attempt
to figure oneself out,
but I think that is too strong, conceded (figuring).

Would I know myself without all those other beings?
No, we share this meaning, space where our love
can take risks, it is all a risk,
writing and sharing the living that is like a bread
or extended emergency,
(a serious go-between)
for us.

Out in the city, in mode and mood
against where the feet go, how to stand-
who to smile at, and noticing that most people aren’t noticing-
our great chance for truth with ourselves
being the risk that is much larger
when we put ourselves in depth, close and attentive
listening, feeding, on high alert-
to all of what we are
for each other, not only ourselves.

This must be the place our place sprung out of-
alive and coursing with kindness
even from the very roots of it’s feet
when no roots could be seen,
it was the chance of our future that broke ground,
and knew that it was in need of everything around it.

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