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It is remarkable, Rosalinda. It is the group itself, group formation itself, group belonging itself, which matters above all else. Groups can form instantaneously eclipsing family, country, religion, gender.
This follows the formula of the most accomplished poem,
having chiefly its own reason for existing
with its content always secondary.
I cannot name the group
(murmuring like bells underground).
Defining it would break the spell.
The group's viscerally aristocratic
and violent response
to anyone who attempts to name
or rationalize the group
signals the effective identity of it.
I must admit I'm fearful, Rosalinda.
Articulate and curious outsiders
have been known to die.
I would violate them if I wrote anything more.
I suspect some of them,
who know exactly (here I may have gone astray
by saying "exactly") what I'm saying regarding the group
are reading this poem.
I glimpsed some of them at the big event,
playing instruments and carrying signs,
the details of which, I dare not say.
I don't worry what they think, Rosalinda.
Interestingly, this never matters.
Yet what I'm saying in this poem
is perhaps the most remarkable truth of the human species.
I shouldn't say more. Not only for my protection
and intellectual reputation,
but for the symbolic integrity of my poem.
