It was a crawl space for thoughts,

a window slight with opening, a moment

of memory cutting in at the head of the line,

full of intensity and color, reminding us

of where we’ve been and the joy we achieved

once arriving.

It’s a wall without a door. A face without

a mouth. We feel the motion but are unable to

give it a title or explain its worth.

It’s a somewhere between open and close, that thin

line we step into without trying, rushing us

to a flavor place from the past; a fleeting

glimpse of our mechanical soul.



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