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Generative by Elaine Terranova

 

Everything has antecedents.

I have them and so do you.

 

As Brahms said of Beethoven,

“You don’t know what it is

to have his footsteps behind you.”

 

Heat melts and cold solidifies

the blood, the things of the heart.

 

You put the light on to find

where you are.  It is not

eternal dark.  Mountains

 

come out of nothing, out of

the crenulated earth.

 

And poetry moves an idea from

one thing to another.  Nothing

is quiet in the cornfields, in the rainbarrels

 

of ocean.  Always, an open door,

a fence of mirrors reflecting dawn.