than we ever are by them.
The gem they are
is so far distant from our constitutive
dust that to be even in a slight degree
reminded of our
blunderousness
threatens
theirsweet equanimity:
even dashes, for a timeless moment,
hope. To be summoned, groped
and caught a
glimpse of
when you are
a ghost --absorbed in your remotely painted
realms, whose helms are pointed
toward fleet reaches unimaginable
by the least or
most of us –
is briefly to
be tainted. When they howl,
they do not want to scare:
they wish we weren’t there.
.
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