no. 39 (origami)      
         
         
         
  those living, given to,
do not look back, but unfold in time,
wrinkled with every delicate crease,
origami shaping ever finer, more detailed.
ever transforming, fold by fold, opening into itself.
no angry rage at nightfall;
no sighs at wintry fevers;
no pounding of nails into disappointed flesh;
but sight flowing forth as beams of light,
shining into the shadow side of the ever emerging.
   
         
         
         
         
         
         
         
     

 

 
         
     

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