A deep sigh
I rearrange particles in my mind
to find out how the liquid of life is blessing my disguises
to rediscover a bloody image in the fiction of the fracture of the Christ.
I make his name up out of the particles which I invented to be my purpose
in the life of this Mind. It wakes up; it goes to sleep; the water wakes up with me.
I try to find a little liquid in the tinyness of crying for dreams.
They don't know what they are to be, but they must seem to themselves,
the tiny dreams that we always figure out.
To find their own names they make themselves seen.
To be seen they must know before, so that they can go where we will always know
how to become what I have
forgotten to be.
My name written on the edge of the sky.
He makes the bloody frame, disguised as my own liquid.
I must confess the rest is down to the historical fiction he writes for himself
in the Mind which we all Love,
so we must know and we must know This.
The End
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