Qualia

With jonquils in her hair,
Qualia floundered on her flori-bund shore,
bound to her loftiest odors.
Wounded, she wondered what the mind did
when the mind was alone.
She wanted to walk beside the flowing
images, not to change, but to be changed
from the imprisoned impermance,
to step with her slips and lapses
into the same thought twice.

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