There are no others
yet still
as I become more blind to balance
I acutely feel the tipping of the scales,
living bedeviled by bending,
looking for the imaginary breadcrumbs
I never laid down.
But gratefully clear
that I do feel delight
learning that living and loving is kindness,
not aspiring solo indulgence.
Though the inward look just might reveal
some things too much and out of reach
there remains no lack of vastness for embrace.
Yet still I do wonder:
how are there astronomical amounts of empty space inside this body?
how can my shadow exist without blood from my veins?
how is death, like cheesecloth, straining out everything with a heartbeat?
Nonetheless I’m feeling bolder
to hazard the guess
that there is living and loving beyond the metaphors.
That perhaps purity and singularity of presence itself
is the simple miracle of an answer.
How sweet to be
without needing to know
the whole of the map of the universe
for evidence that you are never lost
or ever without belonging.
Know this is the place for you
and I am a place where I am you.
—© Ed Sancious
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