How the years, the innocent spirits,
how innocent, how long --
how we live in hope.
Only being alone,
separate from the air itself,
separate from all things,
every embodiment of God's skill,
our own skill, every embodiment
of something else ungraspable --
only being alone,
even from the only how, even separate
from the love of a child,
even knowing that, and risking it --
only alone, with senses blurred
by germs, by haze, by talk, by desire...
Each, each, each is a changing thing.
Each is a changing, breaking notion,
each is a promise on the horizon
as far as the eye can see.
~~~~~~~~~~
Douglas Logan
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