A slow selfish stolen morning constitutional
Life given as a captured moment
Sliced out of the canvas and pocketed.
So often life is searched for,
thought of as a package deal
contained in its simple brutishness.
Treasure Island.
In need of a compass and a shovel.
So often refusing the knowledge
Left over in a back alley
On a simple dawdle, in a saturday morning.
It’s here, forever, around all.
Waiting to be viewed.
Life is.
We are.
See.
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