We
play the game of being
and
not being.
Why
should we dread being
no
one? We are born.
We
die. We don’t dread
the water-fire of birth. We don’t
dread whoever talks to us.
dread whoever talks to us.
Oh,
unengendered hope!
Oh,
perfect silence!
We
play the game. We
play
always and forever
always and forever
and
never.
We ponder our fingernails,
We ponder our fingernails,
where
breath can’t follow,
where
no voices echo in half-
moons
and chipped pyramids.
We with cheeks that bear kisses—
we
float at our far self
like
mist in a low field.
We
hear the last
azaleas bloom and bloom and bloom.
azaleas bloom and bloom and bloom.
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