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Doubt

There are moments I remember

that even the schools of crickets

are multitudinous,


and that waiting for the rain

makes the sun too bright.


I discover new shapes every day:

green ones, gold ones, secrets

under a pale and spirit sky.


Now my many gardens miss me,

the trumpet flowers and the trees,

but they move on.

They move on.


All speech is an act of doubt.


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