for Issa
Paper is only paper, of course,
Paper is only paper, of course,
proof of nothing—
permission
prerequisite
prerogative—
ink is powerless to
bless.
But hands clasped,
breath poised
on the lip of Yes!
eyes finding mates
again
in this new moment,
words weaving fresh
fields of love cloth—
These hush the
worlds.
These still the
gods.
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