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24 The End of Striving Once or twice in a fit of calm I thought I understood— enormous music from the blue between clouds. It’s harder now to hear & hearing includes less angelic, more human cries. I would address God in poems to show how continuous the circuit remains, but prayer meant to be overheard must stink of strut, the last thing God needs. On the way to the gym I broke my reading glasses. I did not twist hard, only cleaned with a T-shirt hem as usual, & bam, they snapped. Since reading on the bike’s all that makes sweat bearable I may as well head home, the clouds bunched up now & scowling. Besides—I said to no one— I’m calmer when I don’t work out. Weaker, & calmer. ...

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