When
feelings morph toward the abstract – enact a story into which
they
might be put to simplify the mess of them, to take their vagaries
and
put some flesh on them, transform “implied” into “exact” –
when
what we call a poem or a painting or whatever other act
of
making palpable what can’t be captured comes to be –
inconstancy
can seem, for moments, constancy –
.
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