Clumsy Heart

Here am I in
four-limbed walls,

shadows of my heart
shifting like the tide

rolls smaller stones
further out to sea;

and I, equivalent
to sea confined within

its boundaries. So too,
yellow day turns purple,

brown, then black governed
by the twisting world.

How do we tolerate
the weight of lifting

up our souls when we
are bare and wingless?

How do we suffer
such stunning beauty

knowing it is elusive
and impermanent?

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