Spectacles of a Poem
The spectacles of any poem
Shall be deciphered through
A flurry of lights, flying
Like loose Boron particles
That you ride without rockets
Into old and new worlds alike.
Here are faces chiseled into canyons,
Here you hear the moments swaying, swaying.
Your dreams have dreams of their own.
Then everything invisible rises,
And you feel the rising.
And the rising is good.
And you are good.
And so is the poem.
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