I got nothing
   as a starting point
nothing packed with everything
            so much so
                        that each thing
      lost meaning.
            Back to zero.
Insistent green    insistent sun
   old creek turning away
            the curious with mirrors
  and wind pointing the way
            from every direction.
Time to jump   set off   fall
   into the potent O
           of rabbit holes
     the vast O
            of my empty womb
            my big glasses
            the ecstasy of old age.
Look (before you leap) close enough
            and there is only space.
from Readings, S. Robbins 

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