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Seen on my walk: tools, repurposed Love’s Bewilderment by Rumi God only knows, I don’t, What keeps me laughing. The stem of the flower Moves for the air moves. I reach for a piece of wood. It turns into a lute. I do some meanness. It turns out helpful. I say one must not to travel during the holy month. Then I start out, and wonderful things happen. In complete control, pretending control, with dignified authority, we are charlatans. Or maybe just a goat’s-hair brush in a painters hand. We have no idea what we are.
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