trading caesarians,
afternoon exchanges,
the sober morning meetings
following new year celebrations.
the missile-minded assembled for
another year in plague-- hearken to
the tremble murmuring its origins!
breathing its knowledge of
a manichaen dawn,
marked by the turn of a calendar page,
biding its time and suppressing its feeling, its
rage,
drifting its glowing words of warning
in the torn cotton clouds,
accruing data as we speak on
our goofy plans and master hobbies.
denser by the day,
it speaks to nights alone,
half a world away,
where subtle hearts can now be
born under a winter's white paint graying
our brains, coat by coat,
the smiling hand undulates
and seems to always know.
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