Breathing on kindling does nothing
until there’s a spark—
and when the flames are rising,
breathing is nothing but the fire’s
own intake.
Consequently, mistaking effect for
cause
is the prime mover of ignorance
and the essential stuff of paradox.
Around & around & around
the driftwood circles in the reedy
shallows—
until the current of intent transports the flotsam
unerringly to sea.
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