The Indian Prince

Reason hides. Often mentioned, unseen—an absent fetch.
Things picked up, turned, spoke
or set. Others work.

All strange away or dying. Always invisible, secreted—speaking through.
Hearing hands, now gloved
and soft. So soft, so easily injured.

Reasons hurt. Not even the thing, itself—itself a trace.
A suggestion speaking
and quietly intimated. Eyes must hear.

A child speaking. Of nothing—all silence.
Of nothing formed and given
local habitation and a name. There, reason hides.

A deed being done. In picking up, turning—setting.
Setting down a truth
which sings. A hidden truth:

…reason and love keep little company together…

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