The sunset stared at separate birds
as he pendulously walked into what he thought he wasn’t.
His disconnection with everything — like the day — was ironically complete:
A separate “me” scratching an arm that was “his” and
there to use from a “distance.”
She was the blossoms that she helped grow.
Their colors were colors that were of purplish her.
She was that towering Oak Tree
but to her, it wasn’t an Oak Tree;
it simply was what it was (beyond labels)
and was not separate from any “me” within her,
for she was beyond all “me”s.
She was the beautiful blossoming of wholeness.