Habituation

What you don’t see is the river of mind
coming through from the past.

The future also comes through,
your handprints are all in place
waiting to be nailed down.

You see a brush leaning against a wall,
it's the sweep already swept,
what it brushed away was this day.

You think you made it through,
but it's not a real life that lives you,
and only you walk through it.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2025

Poem

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