To dip the pen of time
in dew and smoke and blood
To distinguish the creak
of a cradle from a coffin
To demonstrate that life
is the abscissa of eternity
Does a poet have any faith?
Whose only criterion
is self-corroboration
Who can find God
in a barrel of wine
And with the hands of a spider
pilot a path to the stars
THIS SIDE THE FOG
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