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As one who loves science and prose meaning,
I defend poetry in this way:
A poem doesn’t have anything to say
Except that it seems profound
Merely on account of its sound.
Poetry experimented long ago
With utterance as a way to know,
As sound which helps us know where to go,
As sound which is beautiful, and can see,
With sound, you hiding in silence,
Alone, unloved, and without science.
A poet is a piece of curiosity
Who asks, did God make a sound? Did you love me?
