The banalities of life

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All the faces think.
Of now, of then, of after.
Fear is a room full of people thinking.
Sometimes I imagine a room full of people in a circle:
Eyes closed, breathing.
The blinds raised low, light bending thick into space
Seeing colors in the dark,
Sensing the molecules, the inner map inside the life.
Remember that game we played?
Where you count to ten in a circle
Where you look each other in the eye
And you promise to take care of each other?
When you nod like family;
Hands on backs,
And looking down the toes, shoes, boots
Form the roots of our life.
The roots of our tree.
Would we have been friends in our youth?
Would we share an apple?
Can we be animals:
Don’t beg for something I can’t give;
Don’t press me for thoughts I don’t have.
All the faces think,
of now, then, and after.
Remember when we didn’t?

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