A system of necessity much elaborated
becomes allowance’s very possibility:
when on a clear day a flurry billows
through can the snowflakes mingling in
breezy contours be out on anything but occasion,
points brought fine on the casual: and
if a twig, bark-fleck, catches
a fluff-bit (so many form differently approximately
the same in it) out of motion, clamping still,
doesn’t that soft touch jar breath:
is freedom more real than freedom’s illusions:
can the wind unwind knots into
waving strands or can it skirt free, the streaks
brightening white-edged, bruising back into melt:
can the gray energy of the ineluctable,
boiling brimstone, sufficiently bear light?
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