I think and thought about a thousand things.
And each with its full table of contents
as complete as each one to existence
how they came to be and are and still ring
with a growing permanence as certain
as memory will not make omissions
and fate is just a starting point of rhyme
when sound and sense combine and separate.
I think of what to do for the sonnet
that is to say I try to fulfill it
though it be unedited and written
by formula, I hope it is unique
I hope that it will be blessed as it is.
Unedited and unrevised justice.
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