A neighbor, almost rival
who lost a son, I needed to be easy on.
She wanted in, I held her back, firm stance, strong attack.
She said, look I’m only the messenger. We come to shed way.
I am concerned, others dim or lay themselves on antique shelves
to stay preserved in a kind of maze, a type of phrase that could
phase the human race to waste what is truly the Way.
I’m just the messenger. I’ve come
to say of what I relay.