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To scale all love down To a cupped hand’s size
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Love is many and truth is just, And so we are; Both What we choose, And we refuse.
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What the mind forgets The scars keep remembering.
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All that I love I fold over once And once again
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For when down on the knees The man (or god) stretches the arms In giving, It is no accident the hands Are curled like bowls or cups, For he offers self, yet Begs it back again.
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It’s utter sublimation, A feat, this heart’s control Moment to moment To scale all love down To a cupped hand’s size
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True that life is given, And received. But truer still: The single-act of giving Makes the offerer the beggar, too