if in beginning twilight of winter will stand
(over a snowstopped silent world) one
spirit serenely truly himself: and
alone only as greatness is alone--
one (above nevermoving all nowhere)
goldenly whole, prodigiously alive
most mercifully glorying keen star
whom she-and-he-like ifs of am perceive
(but believe scarcely may) certainly while
mute each inch of their murdered planet grows
more and enormously more less: until
her-and-his nonexistence vanishes
with also earth's
---"dying" the ghost of you
whispers "is very pleasant" my ghost to
e.e. cummings
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