I relive volumes about preserving all these hours
as though a summer's worth of sweetness swims
as though a summer's worth of sweetness swims
under the surface in the hopeful brine of memory.
What if there are instructions to make the moment?
What if I practiced each moment before it came--
in the long, lonely present, folding in love, alone...
Open to my destiny as a nomad in this desired body,
understanding? O, I would say in wonder and dismay,
returning over and over again like a peal of laughter.
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