likely first lines on a miserable theme
after scatology

in which without a need love sees you


Sure, water is persistent, direct, as the sky

asks for another chance, a day say of granite.

This illusion that your handsome particles

will suffice. Death so far. Death so far off.

This illusion vast in the oaks the pines comes

off like our beautiful interest in things, not

a Problem but a Pause.


                                                Finally to have said

we don’t know you and we can’t wait to know you.

We figure you’re good for another hundred miles.

We will invite you and your shadow tonight. To

do without your comfortable archaisms we’d just

have to forgive ourselves. To make a living.

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