Come back to the shinning
moment,
its
tattered
edges, and remedial
grace. Watch the morning
arrive, soundless and
now, your son
asleep, your
eternity
also – don’t move – and one realizes
that it is that
which takes down
empires. This textualist
theater, recidivism
of innocence. We are not
who
we once
were, if ever. Too much
has happened.
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