Let the eye see, through clear, clean lenses
Not a wilderness of mirrored reflections,
Echoing biases of misconception,
But, with true perception, rid of self.
The sound I hear from out there,
A call of bird, a ring of bell,
Is not a story, memory nor a spell.
It is improvisation in staccato, syncopation.
The taste of a raindrop on the tongue,
Is not,...
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