we’ll say        that in the landscape       that is all the time that humanity has been on earth     and in all the places        during all those times that is the history of all the nations        and every solitary man and woman as well         there lopes through the crags of that landscape a run of genius        like a vein of molten rock that branches off        like the vascular and lymphic and pulmonary ramuses of the body        into every hide of human activity


we’ll say        that silence is a field at night        beneath the moon        the wind is something we don’t quite get yet        and the gibbous figure overhead is like a symbol of you        how does the day come to such a place        it seems inconceivable        and still        the wind is blowing


we’ll say        that on the lake at dawn        when the runners are sweating it out           and the smell of bodies still clings        from night sweats        and sex        we smell it as they go by        we smell it on ourselves        as a kind of horror and sublimity        dancing on the waves        there beckons and suggest we bathe        even when it is winter        and you are that dancer        with bent back toes        and arching spine        that juts out into flesh that is  where solitude is never        absence


we’ll say        that in the stretch of there        between mackinaw and flint        we’ll find ourselves one day        even if it seems unlikely         because the city is too crowded        and we feel compress upon our chest        every time we make footfall


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