Tomorrow a
visage of ourselves embarks
in unreliable
paper hats. But tonight
they hang
dampened by a long thought.
Still, their
luminance can be seen for hundreds
of miles. It is so beautiful a ghost puts down
its misty feet
and walks. Places water
like a garment
to its lips to quench the ash,
and pauses like a phantom before a corner.
The breeze
fills with monsters!
Everything is
dangerous in the lion
skinned
twilight. Plums make for smoother
landscapes. O sifter of words!
Seer of rumored
worlds!
I pick up a
heron by its neck
and carry it
like a pitcher
through the
millions of flagella
that feel for
me.
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