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this is the poem

this is the poem

written on the way

to all the other poems

never written at all


it will stand or fall

as needed;

it will answer

what i’ve yet to ask


this is the dream

caught in my throat

and swallowed whole

again and again and again


it will return

with patience

and seductive innocence

that i’ve yet to earn


this is the evening

when other evenings departed

bearing undying fealty

indifferent to my faults


it will invite

a re-engagement of will

answering ancient questions

bearing witness to ancient needs



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