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Another Blessed Day | Poetry

Fog on the Mountain: Photography by Shawn Michel de Montaigne

Exabytes of boundless beauty ...

I perceive only a infinitesimal fraction of them in any given moment.

Clarity is impossible without focus.

I must use a big cleaver;

and then, if I'm lucky, smaller blades, ever smaller.

The sweet, tender nugget of perception is always hiding way down deep inside.

I find it only occasionally.

These days pass greased on a 45-degree downslope.

(It was only 35 degrees a decade ago!)

What's beyond exabytes?

I listened to my heart beat this morning,

covers up to my ears,

turned to my side:

ba-ba ... ba-ba ... ba-ba ... ba-ba ...

How many times has it done that now?

How much of those endless exabytes over endlessly finite years

have crushed it, worn it down, weakened it, hardened it?

How brittle is it?

Honest contemplations in a seaside field.

Windswept trees; frigid water; cool pine- and brine-scented air;

a serene, spectral sky.

Another day.

Another blessed day.

Moments. What am I paying attention to?

Where is my cutlery?


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Featured: Fog on the Mountain, by yours truly