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The hour came
when time was repealed.

We threw a switch, and
the eye of God
became lidless.

We thought we would see,
really see at last.

We skipped over years
like stones
in all directions.

We took in the slow yawn
of life
in great, snatching gasps.

We no longer saw progress
as we had once seen it;
straight lines became
great, arcing spirals
swimming, diving
in ever evolving
complexity.

And yet—

we always arrived
in the same place
that we started.

So remember,
the hour will come
when time will be repealed.

When we throw the switch,

I need you
to understand—

when I choose to love you,
it is not in the flush
of one moment
but all of them,

feeding back into
themselves
in endless, looping promise,

until it is as certain
as the flowing script
of everything. See,

really see

that you are loved
and will be, and were

from the instant
we met—

when the sky
rolled back like a scroll
to kiss your sweet
eternal eyelids.



Duke Kimball likes to wear hats.  He has been a mediocre scholar of religion, a Hawaiian shirt enthusiast, and a sleazy used car salesman.  He currently sells spare parts for X-Ray machines and drinks altogether too much coffee.  Duke and his wife Michelle live in Lansing, MI.  He keeps a website at dukekimball.com.
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