The desk calendar reveals the purest zen,
or else a tragedy old as Eden. For instance,
first you compile the angular days, and then
you watch them shorten; feign a resistance
right down to the absurd, knowing the day
will come when the day won’t come, the way
the face darkens, the way it’s no longer
possible to live life to the letter.
What can remain though is something stronger,
a lighter knowing: like chalklight, operetta.
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