Ars Poetica III (Time Destroys All Things)
And in plain sight the missionaries and pickpockets — the mouths they refuse.
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Including the baskets and hours that form the world you have no use for.
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Or a pair of bloody scissors left behind — to remember, to cross back.
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Effortless, in wonder, mourners and martyrs who are made to make.
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The richness — and the brightness — the rush, at times, of getting there.
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After all, misled, lightning gathers at the top of the page. Without fail.
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The poem disappears into the distance with the poet who wrote the poem.
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You also disappear into the distance — here, towards the we of anonymity.
* * * * *
When We See (No Joke)
Yes, here’s the pressure of softness.
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When the aftermath comes to visit.
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We want but those hours inside silt.
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Open and chocking for our moment.
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On our path to the pleasure of trying.
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Reason and what can happen outside.
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Where idiosyncrasies draw near us.
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The unmissable feast, the wetlands.
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Advertising some misguided figures.
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Of speech, whitecaps hung up to dry.
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If only for a while, all we are is this.
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This simplicity that catches our eyes.
/ / / / /
Also On The Seawall — Daniele Pantano translates eight poems by Robert Walser, from Robert Walser: The Poems (Seagull Books, 2022).