it’s there
her pane of a window
passing passages

the passing offer to carry
ten thousand atomic lighters
black specks on a braid of challah

or liberate sweet nappers proper
a chilli-laced hotpot, shiitakis, bok choy
garlic, in the valley of compost boxes

loose her transportive reliquaries, poultices
dank delicious opacity compressed of air
silkworms for the mundane pocket

warm pillow for docket signifiers
fingertips heavy with tawny heads
inky notations with nowhere there

to fly, but into the measure, slightly high
pitched on a dry stone wall, for her
a pinkish reddish hazy third, with leaves

to breathe, past purple on the milky way
eclipse, her eyelid, her lippy friend
seamless tracing moving core

//

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