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We take the risk of being overwhelmed
to touch one toe into the briny sea.
Illusions, spells, fantasies;
a million shattered blisses that understand
earth holds no resolution for the hungry soul
but treasures its shell in a deep and mossy grave.

One dies many times when drowning answerless,
no ground beneath the feet;
fragments of debris the only proof of existence,
but no dry stone could better signify
our tiny blip on the timeline
of to be.

Neither fog nor smoke —
the clouded mind nor the clever tongue —
can find the truth or hide it
when the wind is at the door
and the tide is rising.  The skyline,
ever changing,  fades like history rewritten.

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