Every Poem An Invention
Every poem
An invention
Some would say:
When a romantic
Creates a breathing rose
In the mind
For the heart of another
A far superior find
Than all
Man’s Relativities—
So—
Let Einstein rest
Of his atoms
Undressed;
And Galileo
Further divest
In some far
Distant sky,
Too far off
Even
For modern
Glass-eye
Perhaps now,
As I,
Would also decry:
That the artist, alone,
Sees and lives,
A true icon,
Beyond the grave—
A slave not to science,
But to love and beauty;
With far more inquisitive duty,
That of revealing
The Universe
The soul of it
Divine—
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