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Poetry

Is it that the truth is easily frightened
And shies from us? Or have we not yet looked
Sufficiently around our sun-brightened
Haven, because it’s we who have been spooked
By shadows on the wall—and they our own,
Perhaps, or possibly not, but if not
They can only be the shadows thrown
By that upon which shines the same fond light
That shines on us. Within this shining space,
We also glimpse one another: I see
The daylight gathered in your waking face
As if it were a gift you give to me,
Your view of things expanding our shared world,
The universe expanding from the word.


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