To
the opening in the telling
To
the expounding in the unravelling
The
keys were the letters, and the letters
Were
the keys, and the thing that ran
Between
their meetings, that told, was life
And
in the tiniest measure of a fingertip
In
some sequential order, ordered inside us
And
in and by the mind of our spirit there
The inside and out of a living life
Running
from our centre and seeping out.
*
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