Have you learned yet
with all your heart to be sad
or are you still nibbling
in the garden, furtive poisons,
and sending out small flares
against the day the plague
lays waste everywhere
and you, alone, among the fallen,
stand taller than you stood?
Little portions of grief, I tell you,
go down harder than the whole.
Take this gall, and swallow
all of it, or fall, some
sunlit afternoon, shallow,
beneath an inch-deep pool.



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