There is a world here that knows itself in the way we all do.
That is to say it has a surface personality, a proper social mask
for formal wear.  Underneath, plots are hatching like fish,
bubbles displaying quick new life — snatched into oblivion
barely formed or growing fiercely strong beneath the surface waves.

Is it a warm, wet winter?
Is the Sun supplying energy without heed to the people’s stated needs?
Are ocean waters cursed with pollution born disease?
Do ill winds suffocate a nation’s glory?
We could weave this world a better story, play more mindfully
constructed games.  We could take back our focus from blame,
realign.
There is a saying that what one knows is merely that
which has not been denied.

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