“So many things that happen here are really little more,
if even that, than a scratch, too. Words, in our mouths,
are almost ready, already, to bandage the one
whom the scritch, scritch, scritch, meaning if how when
we might lose each
other, scratches scratches scratches
from this moment to
that. Then I will go back
to that silent evening,
when the past just managed
to overlap the future,
if only by a trace,
and the light doubles
and casts
through the dark a
sparkling that heavens the earth”.
Galway Kinnell
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