Who can see — in the eyes of fate — that ephemeral rim between feeling and will?

Wishes at dawn are singular, different
verging on pre-cognitions
they contain an unselfish power

The way a bass tone seeks for its octave
so this desire lives in innocent purity

Certain of the eventual consummation
it’s tasted in the hopeful brazen now
aswim in the saliva of undilute sun-gift light

_______RS

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