Same, as in they come to have no substance (Stein Poem)
Good weather with exaggerations, winds.
Like nobody can relax these days.
In the bounding ocean of awareness.
Everything to forget and to get.
You could let go anywhere, remain sensitive.
You could be a single evenness.
Abide, this much already made out of.
You could be unborn but it refuses.
A moon, that simple melancholy.
A moon, or more, or maybe you disappear.
When examined. Such fragile things.
The same way you use it.
The same way you use it, know it.
In being beautiful for loving.
They never waver from the gentlest.
And they arise ceaselessly.
As they come to have no substance they appear.
Composed with jGnoetry, one line at a time with varying line lengths.
Source Texts: GERTBOT Stein Selections, Tao Te Ching (tr. Ron Hogan), The Precious Treasury of the Way of Abiding