to Hope Burwell
To approach
is not enough
and often too much.
The mirage shimmers away;
the beauty’s voice mars
her make-up.
In what details are
the atom’s swirl
the crab nebula?
I stand at a distance
removed, but only
assuming a mid point other.
The space between the lines
also runs parallel.
Are my edges yours?
A part or apart?
We dance in the flame,
simultaneously air and fire.
(circa fall 1993)
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