I have toed the line Between innocence and pride. I have lied truthfully, Have felt most ruthful so doing, Have poetized with speech And penned the words While never moving lips, But each one—etched in the fineness of air, Clear as a chisel in stone, A living stone, like a bone, For marrow blooms in the bone And makes it live —comes flowing and blooming out of the air Like God’s Presence in the wind.
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