sweeping past anything blue,
training my eye to see shadow
dare I count steps
to reach beyond the small point
on the horizon
marking the end of all I know
I don’t know what “constant” is
– I have no context
for anything that remains
how gently did we hold
the wind before it shook
and left us laughing
at our folly
– there is no constant
where shadows crawl
and there is still the unknown
The Word Rummager 
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