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Day 25

To be a saint is to smallify

the world

to cramp writing on lined paper

(in order to economize)

to lick the paltry plate clean 

of bread, of stew, of salt.

It’s to stretch a thing to its limits

in order to circumscribe 

its full breadth:

In this stretching of a thing,

its fullness spills out:

illumination of essence.

To imagine the earth a pebble 

and the moon a coin,

small enough to pocket 

and stroke with a stray finger 

throughout the day,

together with the other loose findings:

de-stalked leaves and crawly things,

stray snippings of fur 

The saint makes the monstrous world 

as small as the meow of a hungry kitten 

wanting a bowl of milk

So that it may be loved, loved, loved


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