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Idol
The moments you can never
quite inhabit.
Floating and dodging
attempts to clutch and hold.
As if to savor, remember the taste
exactly. As if stories are heard only
through fastidious interpretation.
As if Divinity were careful. But even if
I lost you, these moments still I’d hold
above all else like worship. Like an Idol
abolishing a church-ship.
And in this you’d inhabit myself.
And not a thing can hold or keep this.
Copyright ©
Erin Beckett
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