Unfinished
The perpetual doing of the thing
I love.
I do not want to conquer it
And so I am happy
That it has bound me
to itself
By forever evading
my grasp
I will never possess
it
How happy I am!
For I love to pursue it
And do it
Again and again.
How content I am
In its infinitude
And in my nothingness
In comparison.
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