I went to Steven and accosted him
verbally, blaming him for my difficulties.
He laughed at me, a concealed laugh, quick smiles
pulled over it, as one covers corpses.
“I have no power. Nor understanding.
I am, however, glad I am not you,
naming people liars when they give help.”
He turned his back on me and said no more.
Since then, I have considered carefully
and think the discord arises from warnings
against falsehoods, when everyone I knew
practices the craft with sophistication.
As well, therefore, tell farmers not to farm
when the spring’s come; or sailors not to sail
when the hint is up and the tide is high.
How does one breathe the truth into deceit?
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