every time I think on,
read, or talk
about Shakespeare
I think I
fall
in love
with the words
maybe, or
the sounds they make
letters
strewn together and
singing songs berry-sweet
and wine-dripping
it is hard to tell
but
either way
He lives for me
and could be
walking here among us
plastic sandals flopping
still with
black ink on his fingers
and that is
the man
I'd crumble for
(no ruffled collar
but a Hawaiian-style button-down
and holy pen in hand)
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