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Fred Marchant

and a world stilled for a second
as if it had stopped breathing

as if in the space between breaths
the brain might float like a planet on nothing

and the eye open to a flensing, pared down
to a pulse and the long less than an instant

a word takes to thread one soul to the next

— Fred Marchant, from “Your Words,” Image: Art, Faith, Mystery (no. 54, Summer 2007)


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