One step, as wished, free. From point A. taken.
Being improbable, at best, a mindless being,
is not impossible, now, two lines in.
Being as how,
I am, in the midst of all that is, thinking
I am not the cause of more than the touch
I am hoping to feel, fed back
as matters may prove plausible, living truth.
Even, the touch is imaginable,
and once imagined
feels the same, after the act.
We exist, readers, both you and I reading once
each word, the first time, in we-state, as
primal exposure to life,
sensing knowns
awake, new, in total newness, nothing is
as expected, as nothing was expected,
sense
itself is new
to you, and I only hoped
you could exist
and I could find you waiting to ask
if I found the art of being
beautiful.
I smile and you know, this maybe point b.
To each reader, wondering if ever is mortally limited, look for point C.
