
among detritus,
an arm breaches the surface:
not waving / not drowning.

among detritus,
an arm breaches the surface:
not waving / not drowning.
To live in the now.


Unconventionality.
The mountain
was so long ago.
Yet, I feel its pulse
throbbing under foot --
into my ever-loving sole.
[You thought I was going to say:
"everlasting soul," didn't you?
Do you think my soles
inconsequential in comparison
to my soul?]
Nothing is firmer or finer
than the point at which
I touch (& know) the earth,
than the point which
presses the real,
and, thus, by which I have
evidence that I live.
[The ghost feels nothing in its soles --
if such a being exists.]
These lowly old soles connect me
to all that is, was, and ever shall be.
Poet, Philosopher, Philosopher-Poet.