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June 18, 2021 / Samuel DiPaola

The Olive Grove

I close my eyes and listen to the space between.
Much larger than the measured volume.
A universe within a box.
Contained, yet unbound.
Eyes can be deceptive.
Pluck them out and break the bonds.
I have lived near 60 years.
But I am timeless.
Older than the Sun.
Younger than my mother.
She is older than the cosmos.
But younger than an olive grove.
I think I’ll make a martini.

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