Inner Nature

Why does outer nature grab my eyes
—the cool mist of the morning air,
goats who bleat their feeding cries—
since inner nature’s also here?

But then a single drop of rain
wets my face and frags my brain.

My inner focus tends to curl
’round beliefs concerning joy and pain—
the back and forth of ancient swirls—
forgetting that it’s all the same.

Why does my focus stay outside,
as if I’m on an endless ride?

Both in and out are quite a pair.
They tend to ever slip and slide,
but never more than I can bear.
I guess unless I die inside.

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