No,
none of us could have done this:
the trembling edge
the grandiosity (and yet it is minute) of
its single-purposed thrust
which shows itself to be, a moment later
as complex, as flawed
as any form that any of us might inhabit:
liver, intestines,
brains, bone-marrow, blood, follicles,
and so forth. It is impossible
not to desire it, not to wish
to become the thing that it is
as a tree, burning
becomes a greater tree, of smoke.
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