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Without Meaning

She senses in quick glances,
perceiving harshly mixed singles
in the way the grass grows
and how it doesn't push
only naturally
or
in the way a mother instinctively knows
precisely the right way to kill
in order to protect her own.

Only the stars can beguile
in such a way
where answers are preludes to the questions
and light means dark
in the most figurative and direct way possible.
She cannot fathom
the art of being
only meaningless, in the true
sense of the word,
knowing that words have meaning
only if we perceive them to.

But still,
knowledge of purpose
is some Holy Grail,
providing a blanket over a fire pit
to keep warm.

There are questions for God
she can ask in individual breaths,
knowing that letters are more
than random formations of patterns
making sounds
more like a crash than a light bulb.
She can fist fight for answers,
though—
it will only take one round
to find that God is just as human.

The final pit of realization:
she climbs into a well with no bottom,
into the dark because
even though her questions are still unanswered,
she is blind and doesn't care.

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Dan Robaczewski
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