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Young Joseph dreamed. In the daytime too,
he would dream, young Joseph,
only the death that lay in waiting for him
young Joseph did not dream.
Many went in fear and cast him into the pit
but the young man dreamed . . .
and dreamed and climbed like an acrobat
from his pit into the heights of his longings.
Only the raven which circled above his head
Joseph did not dream.
Down the road were his twelve brothers
with one blood at the fracture of his dream.
Others passed by and called him madman,
at the fracture of his dream his twelve brothers of a single blood.
He sank deeper and deeper into his pit
and was sold to wind and strangeness. Above him the sky
put out the moon like a lamp
and cut a black coat for him.
He no longer sang towers. He sang to himself. The black
overwhelmed his towers.
Young Joseph opened his eyes and saw death waiting
and a raven circling but he climbed, rising up
like an acrobat to the heights of his longings, young
Joseph, the dreamer, whom many held in awe.