Creo que si ... I believe 
it will rain 
tomorrow... I believe 
the son of a bitch 

is going into the river ... 
I believe All men are 
created equal—By your 
leave a leafy 

shelter over the exposed 
person—I'm a 
believer creature 
of habit but without

out there a void of 
pattern older 
older the broken 
pieces no longer 

salvageable bits 
but incommensurate 
chips yet must 
get it back together. 

In God we 
trust emptiness privilege 
will not not perish 
perish from this earth— 

In particular echo 
of inside pushes 
at edges all these years 
collapse in slow motion. 

The will to believe, 
the will to be good, 
the will to want 
a way out—

Humanness, like 
you, man. Us—pun 
for once beyond reflective 
mirror of brightening prospect? 

I believe what it was 
was a hope it could be 
somehow what it was 
and would so continue. 

A plank to walk out on, 
fair enough. Jump! said the pirate. 
Believe me if all 
those endearing young charms ... 

Here, as opposed to there, 
even in confusions there seems 
still a comfort, 
still a faith. 

I'd as lief 
not leave, not 
go away, not 
not believe.

I believe in belief ... 
All said, whatever I can think of 
comes from there, 
goes there. 

As it gets now impossible 
to say, it's your hand 
I hold to, still 
your hand.