each of us in our own world
the brain perceiving its individual reality
pausing only for fireflies on a summer's night
or the whispering leaves of November.
how can we even begin to communicate?
Can I hold your hand?
wipe your brow?
Can we come together when there is so much that pulls us apart -
you hurt, I cannot help you
I feel disenfranchised
sitting on a rock high in the Black Hills,
wondering,
if Crazy Horse ever rode through here.
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