Bright small specks,
Have O such a space to fill.
Each warm red point
Inside my body
Is fooled into distance by all other points.
So saith Valery, the poet.
He was speaking of great distances,
Which in the body, I think,
Mimic those outside the body.
By as far as we fail to reach others,
So do we fail to reach ourselves.
People are not points,
But create them.
And we etch our lines from point to point
Like breathing constellations.
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