Sunday, August 05, 2007


Untitled exile

ALSO the mind, and that land, easement of
   borders, fluid conjuring cubes from
   meandering streams, dream of stilling
river, rock, cloud, rain, cliff, grain, human, child,
our words puzzle through time, one or more steps
   behind, always. We only dream form/We
   dream only form/Only we dream form, BUT
we are most insistent in our dreams. So,
the old minds have it, with judicious
   application of limits, we may ground
   perfection on perfection's given, abandon
all our senses may offer, this tumult
   of living, and seek instead our unities
   in separate dreams that war with time.

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