Set Asunder Poem by David Corman

How that wintered and western wind throbs
To sing that same song that reminds.

A song that, with all its grave notes, inveigles an ever-pressing solidity.
Though known through and through, still she schemes.

These splintery hates quake quietly on hive-minds halls.
For every crazed hint makes to my very soul swiftly.

No learned man, in his way, could say to know another such learned man for all.
But, an ignorant man might, in some fashion, know the ways of both those learned men.