Five-Vowel Poetics

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a poem about to be written,
An old idea in truth, already rotten
Even as you pick it flowerlike and wordless,
Universe-bound, the universe of our oneness,
Or playful separateness, once and future work

Of pure dream yet identical memory, but
Above all, as poem proceeds to be, nth guess
Emptiness and yet music, the music of what
Inaudible to the ear one can’t hear, much less
Unhear. Perhaps it is only us, in the dark.

RUIZ AQUINO

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