How water is ice, is steam.
Trees, the wood, now paper, now ember
and all the stops between.
Gerunding, she wrote, giving birth to a word,
how everything is rotting or ripening,
morphing, dying, and living again.
Awesome he said having found a dollar bill
on the sidewalk, doing violence to awe,
once reserved for rapture or reverence
and in its travels became awful,
as in shock and awe,
then loved and degraded to death.
In my dream an old friend, long deceased,
carelessly dropped the lid
from his Styrofoam cup
defacing the zen garden.
I ran to pick it up. Was I not my friend
restoring the equipoise,
correcting my own trespass,
evolving in this place of rapture
and is that not awesome?
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