their hands push through the limelight
we stand and watch the pioneers take flight,
they clench and slip away
there is no reason for them to remain
they have seen so much – gifted
blind men blessed with second sight,
they’ve challenged mete and mind,
form and Pythagoras, found the answers
and left behind the rest of us
I follow neither the finder nor the fortune-teller
I am tearing light instead of kneeling before it
I am pitch perfect as I scream to break this body
from the mould in which it is set
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