If I met you again
would I know you
                like in the time of blue
shadows on snow
the ceiling of the universe
pulled open by the furnace
of a volcano

If I didn't meet you then
how would I know 
                  that it wasn't you 
walking through the spray
of fountains untouched
by their constant

The world is filled 
with silvered threads 
                 of snail tracks 
and other quiet 
pilgrimages—if we 
saw them all we might
never stop weeping

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