One

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ONE


I cannot write the poem 

which is the silence between 

the too-many words I have inked

into bleak existence, 


nor think the God who is 

the hollow space 

in every thought of my 

concocted God. I do not say 

this God or poem 

who are one and the same

cannot be known, but all the same,

that knowing them


is but to bathe in the echoes

which reverberate from a distance

too far—or near—to chart

is my best advice,

                             and art.



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