Hermetically Sealed

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I need shut-out time to fill
my inner ravages,
those frown-seamed erosion gullies.

Some nullified time to contemplate
mercurial light incarnate around
the bent backbone of the hills.

Faced with the conundrum of myself
I detect a small change,
a small, small honing change.
I’m a slab of soap
on the cutting edge of a quiet knife;
a laboratory rat
its fur at last awry.

In my hermetical
tin-can of a life is one truth
without test —
one remarkable event
of invention, cunning and theft:
the sun gets up
and goes down.

14 September 1994

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