In The Cloud-Like Impermanence Of My Mortal Poetics
stutter -
we can never say everything that need be said
shutter -
we can never capture everything that need be seen
incomplete/imperfect/impermanent/
as the subtraction adds up to less than we expect
and so I stammer to capture the word, the wind
with less than perfect diction
and so I clamber to catalog the wild, the world
with less than complete collocation
as I shudder in the length of my receding shadow,
in the cloud-like impermanence of my mortal poetics,
realizing within the word, the wind, the wild, the world
that it is easier to conceive of the infinite, than the finite
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