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| click to see a man on a walk |
Then to the knob,
as the farmboys call it,
to look into the valley
where the creek runs
under blue haze,
the sun in my eyes,
the wind from the next ridge
luffing my shirt,
aware of my size
and my meaninglessness
in all things other than this,
my breathing in
and knowing it,
my breathing out
and knowing it;
myself,
my own master.
