The dark inside the frame
is a print of a memory
remaining on the pull
of our attention.
It could reach outside
if it wasn't concerned
about its shape.
It curls, believing in its self -
moving through what it was
moments before. Sleep is a dream
that it will never remember.
Its form has no patience
for stillness. Waiting
would give it breath, but becoming
alive would allow sight.
As soon as you see yourself,
you are not there.
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