An other sense tugs at us:
we have lost something,
some key to these things
which must be writings
and are locked against us
or perhaps (like a potential
mine, unknown vein
of metal in the rock)
something not lost or hidden
but just not found yet
 
 
that informs,
holds together this confusion,
this largeness and dissolving:
 
 
not above or behind
or within it, but one
with it: an
 
 
identity:
something too huge and simple
for us to see.

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