Near a shrine in Japan he'd swept the path
and then placed camellia blossoms there.
Or -- we had no way of knowing -- he'd swept the path
between fallen camellias.
another massacre; and the clean bright morning.
Keeping walking. 'Contradiction' is human -- I know that.
And 'knowing'... A stirring from the place the whirlwind -- something like
fear -- arises, and watching my breath
to still that. Suddenly thinking somewhere in the breath -- along
the breath, is an understood place. Somewhere -- but somewhere
in passing -- where the matter is reconciled.
News of: Codicils
Too many things
one must know -- so many --
a place on the breath for each? each passing?
(its turning -- breath's inmost
turning, my Love --
for delight -- )
'massacre of the innocents.'
And that there is a form
even for that.
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