And we say: The soul may be compared
Unto a spoonbait that a child discovers
Beneath the sliding lid of a pencil case,
Glimpsed once and imagined for a lifetime
Risen and free and spooling out of nowhere –
A shooting star going back up the darkness.
It flees him and it burns him all at once
Like the single drop that Dives implored
Falling and falling into a great gulf.
Then exit, the polished helmet of a hero
Laid out amidships above scudding water.
Exit, alternatively, a toy of light
Reeled through him upstream, snagging on nothing.
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