there’s that flower the ancient rock by the street we come of a village a sinuous path that leads to the next but our village has no name it is not of specifics there is no history here no identity to cling to and no exotica to marvel over it’s all the same to us your village or ours and we welcome with palms open; there’s no dogma or Heavy Books on our tables we start with no musings and we shape no theology and grand ideas all that we have is clarity that blooms and withers, only to bloom again no affiliations, no special-ness and it is the clouds and the earth we read in our village in our homes that go by no name or labels and no exotica to marvel over it’s all the same to us your village or ours and there’s that flower