Explain this to me,
Two things that seem so innocuously
Similar in my mind, but set
Loose in the world of ideas,
They evolve in discord.
I tried to write a poem about the sun—
It was going to be apocalyptic, with children staring into
The vocal point of the volcanic Earth.
A robin blushing in opposition
But I began to think of a painting
John Singer Sargent did of leisure class
Children holding paper lamps after dark.
A robin, somewhere, against the might of a volcano
And suddenly I was cutting my heart in pieces
Against the grain. You see
I was trying to divide it equally.
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