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Creation

by Chris Armstrong

As I write, each line reaches for memories

lost, fallen beyond the edge of the world:

kamarupa dwelling in infinity, fading

 

when my lines do not find them

and my words fail passion and desire.

 

Eons, lost pasts. Which of them

could dream my frail dream of this

verse? Which, thrown

 

across the fabric of time, could make

nothing everything?

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Wednesday 29th March 2023 3:00 pm

memory   writing   Rumi   time   dreaming   kamarupa

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