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How Could I Know?


How could I know that one plus one is two,
that summer follows spring, that yesterday
is not tomorrow or that there's a way
to prove what might seem false on Earth is true
on Mars?  How could I know that Martians who
are not ashamed of being Martians may
be right?  How could I know that I could say
this clearly, loudly it's you I love, it's you. 

How could I know the sky would not collapse
if I were brave enough to tell you face
to face exactly what I feel, and throw
away my mask?  How could I know the maps
of Mars which hang inside my closet grace
your closet walls as well how could I know?

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Not in the Open, No

Not here, not in the open, no.  Inside
a closet, yes, inside a vault, behind
a curtain or a red-brick wall.  We'll find
abandoned hermit cells where we must bide
our time until there is no need to hide.
Not in the open, no.  We must now bind
our sheaves of grain in caves, we must now wind
our clocks in shacks where only we reside.

Not here, not where we may be seen, not where
a dog may spy us out.  A hawk.  A horse. 
A bumble-bee.  A frog.  A buffalo.
Not where the sun is shining, no, not here,
not where the sky is made of glass.  Of course
I want to, yes.  Not in the open, though.

G.S. Crown

If you have any comments on this poem, G.S. Crown would be pleased to hear from you.

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