• 2014


    The year is taking place.
    If the clouds by crawling had been saying

    something, it is shape
    which is water without jar or whistle.

    It is terrible that we loved at a time like this,
    white rolling over a tree

    unetched by pining,
    the dark of its root tipped

    with toenails. Was time when chipped / red
    would have been the issue. Who’s

    looking? Had it been clued
    the shadows had shadows,

    would you have peeled soil on our behalf?
    Hugger of my hugger,

    song of my song.
    Darling ways in which we tread too lightly.


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