She said I would know when I finally knew.

She said I would no longer speak once I had seen.

I assumed, then, it would be freeing;

not a nail in the coffin of thinking,

not a final turning-toward silence.

Like so many others first setting out,

I mistook the initial departing as foreshadowing —

of some kind of great impending arrival.


No arrival.

No departure.

No terrain.

No more travels.

No more reaching.

Only falling away.


like one who has crossed-over

come back

not allowed to stay —

there is only noticing,

with nothing left to say.

(c) 2019 / Frank LaRue Owen /

sound: Noora / Sylvi / Igneous Flame

image: Sunrise in Paradise / Lucia Otero

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