i am nothing that upon nothing waits
i am the song that sings its end
i am morning.
i am fire and a universe of risk,
concealed event which craves
its instant use and end of instant risk.
i am the arrow and secret of purgation.
i am imagination.
won’t you take a moment of a day
to publish me in your heart someday,
kiss my photograph in some tarnished abode
tenderly walk numerous ways,
and by your art discover, though i lie still and cold,
you did not wish this life untold—
caught, it laughed!
it washed the new with the old.
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