Dearest Benjamin

Shivering opacity sits out the three-day tomb,

so for you, a casual, conversant aplomb:


What crossed the road and why did it travel?

What is our precedent, if there is only rabble?

How can the path be etched in clay,

when old stones lead us in new ways?


So for you, acausal, a sinking annulled,

the trace that lingers, a dissolving mold


as roots escape, leaves branches replaced.

These boughs of holly would make mistakes

through folly could only: a mistake-misplaced,

as callings can only be as tall as their stakes.


You dig? It’s clear. It’s plain as play:

the works weld within. Commerce is a game


best left to your birds, bees, boldly at hand

when effective love breeds circumstance.

Like loitering lots, like lingering lists

of the things long gone, things never missed:


as you are the first, you’ve got to know

which things went before, that you’ve yet to go.

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