One cry per word, five
Words per line. Who knows
How to count a phrase?
More words or less line?
Wet ghost who breathes both?
This can’t go on. It
Goes on. It is not
The same as this. This
Is not quite it, but
This, it does go on.
This stone in your hand
Is not to be thrown.
Put it in your shoe,
And then try to walk.
Step. Wince. Hand in cap.
Now you have a task.
Each step is a drop
That falls on the stone
And is gone. Walk. Walk.
That stone has to go,
But it will take time,
And more than time, change,
The words you can’t count—
Cut through this black wood
Called out by its stars.
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