The vagaries of thought,
Less what is than is not,
Impossible windows,
Into, out, no wind blows,
And no light pierces lights,
But open gates of nights
Where, like a crystal jar,
Spins only one bright star
Placing all in its place
In emptiness of space,
(I am a meadowlark —
I don’t sing in the dark),
Where all’s in good order
Outside my own border.
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