Sometimes there is only God, whether
a God skulking in black holes of
mind or scintillating light
years in all opposite
directions, whether
active, passive,
many, one, or
none,
I
choose
not to believe in
man, because I am, but
to believe in the possibility of
love and perfection and do not blame
my lack of these on snapdragons and daisies.
(Arkansas Magazine, Arkansas Democrat, May 19, 1985;
Blind contour sketches of the poet by Beverly McLarty, 1983 or so)
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