Too Small to Disappear ~ Tuesday, November 18, 2025

Tristesse, sister of mine, I never met
how the imagination longs for hope
every turn, around each corner, I pass

Inconceivability, a wide net
never cast but set aside for some day
conception without recognition, grope
open doors in the dark, at night, the grass
never appears as green as in daylight
cymbals clash in the orchestra, they say
exceptions to the rule exist but sound
impossible to understand, they see
visions of history, the spice trade, ground
almost to dust, eat glass, lick rust, a bee
buzzes around pollen, full of delight
lift the stars into place, heavy with rime
elegant titans banished, lost to time

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