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Musings: A Palate Cleanser

Voices squiggle like worms

visiting, talking worm talk

around the neighbor’s pool.


Halos of clouds

mimic the trees.

We are all reaching toward the sky.


They call it “forest bathing.”

We called it tromping through the woods.

Vines shoved aside,

Leaves crunched.

Always the wind

held close to the body by the trees.


How did we come to define visbility

as reality?

The windchimes sing.

Palms rustle.

In the background, the surf hums.

All movement is from the invisible.

Taste is invisible.

The chill radiating from my toes, invisible.

Sewage that staggers me backwards,


Reality comes in tiny bites.

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