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Untitled

In school you lean over a

microscope,

astonished by revelations

under glass, such minute

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clarity

controlled.

I tell you, child, there is more

power

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in the way your mind brings

matter

into focus and recombines

the elements,

more beauty infused in the

world

by your naked eye.

You think you want

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congruence,

our imagination closer

than the rings of Saturn,

yours just enclosed in mine.

Let it be enough that a few

things

are predictable. You know

when you can peaches

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your mother’s mood

becomes a wren.

Let your will resist me,

the future be the sky you’ll

map,

heaven visible like stars

when they are.

*

From “Trinity” by Susan Ludvigson. (Louisiana State University Press: $16.95, 72 pp.)

Copyright 1996 Reprinted by permission.


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