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On the Other Side
On the other side, so many things besides the dead.
A fog-rich mist of all the stories:
Eve’s, Helen’s, the raven.
Gliding there in Li Po’s wooden boat,
the counterpoints Bach tucked under his airy fingertips.
No one knows whether fog there behaves
according the basic laws
but I’ll bet I could take a deeper breath,
blow on the glass of the room’s fifth wall
my minor cloud present for an instant and
I’d use my shirtsleeve to wipe it off again and again.
On the Other Side
On the other side, so many things besides the dead.
A fog-rich mist of all the stories:
Eve’s, Helen’s, the raven.
Gliding there in Li Po’s wooden boat,
the counterpoints Bach tucked under his airy fingertips.
No one knows whether fog there behaves
according the basic laws
but I’ll bet I could take a deeper breath,
blow on the glass of the room’s fifth wall
my minor cloud present for an instant and
I’d use my shirtsleeve to wipe it off again and again.
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