Wu is not the ground of you.
You do not result from wu.
Wu is just in love with you,
After wu’s fashion.
Wu pulls with great attraction,
Pulls ten thousand things
Out of you, a universe
Of waves, bursts, collapses, light,
Darkness, that which is
Too massive to see,
That which is almost vacuum
But not quite, that which
Bends for stars to generate
Living and dying and such,
You, in other words,
In other words, nothing much.
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