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if your road is wine-dark & you drink
& your blood is sunlight & swimmingif the little freedoms that form you
taste like clean winter airif the whole of time finds itself & disappears
in the geometry of your breathif you are prone to becoming
those things you always doubtedif genuflection is an artform
& you place all questions inside itif politics gives you equal measures
of epiphany & raucous fatigueif elegance identifies itself in you
but you refuse to answer the callif mirrors frighten & distill your neurons
one by one until you fleeif dragonflies look like holy vessels
& you pray to the sheen of their wingsif fame is one of many myths
gathered in your fist like grapesif the will is a symphony performed
by all that your mind has not touchedif morning has no meaning beyond
the scents you ascribe to morningif repetition is the name of doubt
& you believe at your centerif everything is faith or faith's envoy
& faith is an insurmountable factif a window can contain infinities
& the self is a windowthen safely you might describe your
rootless nocturnal ruminations as human& you are suited to improvise a love
with which to trim & shatter obstacles& the universe is moving toward you
with an invitation to the day© 2001 Joseph Robertson