Bubbles from the depth rise with strange, salty feelings,
Foaming words draw attention,
Stones thrown down to mark the spot
Sink without a trace,
Scholars study a frozen core from the past,
But mysteries are born again in the spring,
Bringing meaning, energy, and life;
The spirit cannot be exorcized –
In its absence we are dried mummies,
Filled with it we are mad;
What is left walks on the edge of a knife,
The world divided into subject and object,
All that is not required is cut away,
With each bloody loss the earth moves,
Shaking bubbles from the depths.


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