My guess was two or three in age first hearing
gentle breezeless claim of eternity upon,
beneath earth’s solemn sunlit soil,
green moss tuft and ferny ground,
brown needle blanket heard coos so meant for cones
and acorns grown of baby oakleaves brightlit at shady morn. Then someone told
me ’twas a bird unseen, which seemed hard to believe. For expertise always can’t
succeed at explaining away such mysteries as spells of resonance aligning tongues of earth itself with idea of world, proclaiming buried mystery how joy was
fate of telling reals unknown thru knowing
pleas the answered asking’s unasked answer Why.

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