In other days,
the strife
of othering
makes then
into now
and now
into then,
and hither
circles round
like the mythic asp
whose head knows
no more its shaking end.
And people move in mass
out of their minds and souls,
and by the desert shore
rattle hollowed clams.
But even then, in our eyes,
we still might have
much of cosmic gravity
dormant or submerged
in those points of blackness
through which light is entering
all the while the pits of living stars
strive to clear path and bloom anew.
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