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for Lincoln’s second birth­day

In all sin­cer­ity, in truth, in fact,
with­out equiv­o­ca­tion, doubt or guile,
with hon­est cards (the deck has not been stacked),
forever­more, and not just for a while,
I’ll say, until the uni­verse has ended,
and pos­si­bly beyond the death of space,
long after what the Big Bang broke is mended:
above all sights I love my Lincoln’s face.

And fur­ther­more, I hereby do avow
that after Time itself has proven mor­tal,
when there’s no longer any­thing called Now,
this oath will be deliv­ered through a por­tal
in Nothing’s void so Empti­ness can thrill,
despite the lack of time and lack of place,
to know Exis­tence died and yet know still:
above all sights I love my Lincoln’s face.

This poem originally appeared in Light Quarterly, Nos. 70-71, Autumn-Winter 2010-2011

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