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inherit the wind


We are inheriting Art and Arc 
Of trying to understand.  

How once, we were fingers, 
Born of the same common hand.

Miniatures born into this land 
Of thought.

Tactile each, and that ought, 
To have been enough.

But,

In the sound of each brushed whisper
Overheard in the billowing clouds,

We fought the thought
Of the popular injunction.

Loud as a newborn’s cry,
Yet rough
As an unwanted memorry.

We are the ones 
Still trying 

To Understand.

Copyright © Vernon Witmer

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Book: Reflection on the Important Things