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Nuts and Seeds
Like nuts and seeds.
Dreams.
Of how it could be.
Buried.
Scattered underground.
Seeds of fantastic completions.
The knowledges of desperate insights.
Variations unending.
Squirrel food, these seeds of dreams.
We stumble into them sometimes,
Clumsy in our searchings, and we whirl around,
Squirrel pitched,
Quick snaps of vision of the whole being a seamless communion.
Scenes in each nut of everything working out right.
Scattered.
Buried everywhere.
Little nuggets to be tasted fresh from the underground.
Shelled blendings that satisfy every quest.
Every nut,
Everything you ever wanted to do,
Being done.
Everything you’ve ever believed,
Being true. Enclosed in each buried nut.
All these nuts and seeds,
Out in a field,
Buried at differing depths.
Requiring only a squirrel’s memory…
No map, no roots. No detectable common source.
Just the squirrels.
Each nugget. Each nut. Perfect.
A fusion of nuclear simplicity.
The solutions, all things meshed perfectly, like a body cradled into its
love.
A figment of thought and structure, in storage.
Squirreled away.
But squirrels, being what they are, may have lost most of them forever.
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