Playing in the Unmind of Oneness by Neil Selden

I grow a poem,

not much dripping

yesterday’s kindness,

Playing In The Unmind Of Oneness by Neil Selden

even less tomorrow’s crimes,

though all our memories are

interchangeable treasures,

and many indescribable futures

await my yesterday:

a sky at dawn in the heart of a plum,

the drawn bow of a snowing moon,

precious the palm of the hand

on which I have carved

affectionately all the names of God

who is in spite of anyway


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