And You Knew It When You Wrote It

You found a shore full of stones
Similar to the special one you loved,
In the dream, which is wonderful

But then devalues that special one
In your dream thoughts, as you find
More and more and better like it.

Lies ferry their truths along like that,
Concealed in imagined comparisons.
Oppression lurks in justice itself,

And we’re so sorry, Czeslaw, but
The way the initial letters get written
Has nothing much to do with reason.