Poem

"Breath, by legerdemain,

conceals the dove in air and

shuttles it door to door

in the widening maze

before opening the door that

meets our eyes.

Conjuring.

A trick played on a credence

crawling to disassembly.

If the soul be any other than a

dodging

from the senses, then say

—we will say—

belief's in what decays”