There is a movement
that doesn’t move.
There is a wind
that is still.
There is black
that dresses in white.
There is a yes
that means no.
A stop sign
that says go.
An earth
that is a grain of sand.
A boy
that has always been a man.
A death
that always lives.
A thing outside us
unknown
that always gives.
What makes anything right?
I, I undying in this necessary fight
can do what I wish
in travail, in delight.
