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this meadow, held in concavity
by a rocky perimeter — a rim
from which its grassy
slopes descend, and to which
they return, is where I stand:

an image perched
on the cliff of an eye’s
boney orbit, my Love drawn
irresistibly to its center
cast upside-down and backwards

into a larger Intelligence
returned then as an echo
I call my world — as a new
form enlivened

divinized by
that Surrender. . .

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