how many moments must(amazing each
how many centuries)these more than eyes
restroll and stroll some never deepening beach
locked in foreverish time’s tide at poise,
love alone understands:only for whom
i’ll keep my tryst until that tide shall turn;
and from all selfsubtracting hugely doom
treasures of reeking innocence are born.
Then, with not credible the anywhere
eclipsing of a spirit’s ignorance
by every wisdom knowledge fears to dare,
how the(myself’s own self who’s)child will dance!
and when he’s plucked such mysteries as men
do not conceive—let ocean grow again
[poem is “how many moments must(amazing each” by e.e. cummings]
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