The poetry of stillness sits cross-legged with closed eyes, cradles opposites. Outside a scholarly breeze leafs through a dictionary of
trees (looking up the meaning of life). Sound of muffled footsteps in the hall. Somewhere a door opens&shuts. Amidst untold comings&goings the thought of death flits across mind’s sky; harmless as bright-winged blackbird. With no warning the scent of seventeen lilies floods the room.

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