it is all the same as
it ever was, only
not the same as
it ever was,

before, and we may find ourselves
standing, here: this beautiful deck, this
beautiful house, under a beautiful tree
alone and along with this beau-
tiful Bald

water dissolving
water removing

always waiting for water, and water
waiting for us, and just water wordless, water whispering, water flowing, water
crying, water underground, each

day goes by, and water, dissolving.
this is not my beau-
tiful tree. this is not my
beautiful Bald Man. am I
right, or
am I wrong?

these are the same steps and the same words and the same ditto death air, the repeating notes, the
reiterative clucking of syllables, the eternal clicking of clocks, the placement of paw on plank, the
dropping of leaves, the talking of heads, the same and my

god, what have I done? where
does this go to? what

should I do? I still place my foot on this same wood, sniff this same cold air. same. click. same.
cluck. as it ever was, and not, not at all the same
as it ever was, ever

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