clarity of day's end
clarity of all tasks done
clarity of no more asking, what next?
clarity
of not needing
to write a poem
clarity of sitting with my back to the window
as cars pass—
one
two
—but not counting
clarity
of this blue-grey light
before it’s gone
ah
clarity
what questions could possibly be left to ask?
I can see it so clearly now
a dark spot
hovering at the center of my vision
the size of a pea
it pours nourishment, infinite nourishment
outward
into my mind
into this universe
feeding the whole thing
this small node
where clarity
ends
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