* At the end this sand coming by covers you with soft flowers that long ago dried as footsteps still treading inside some shallow grave smothered as afterward and dust –you loved her the way the Earth keeps warm and between two suns place to place what’s left you walk without looking down though your arms are closing have grown together a single fingertip touching these shells and pebbles. * These stones still breathing chill your mouth too, sealed in whatever is started –you kneel at each construction site :this grave centered so the light inside helps you find the frostline and in time the building no longer moves though you inhale side to side the way mourners root each wall arm in arm and no more air –what’s left you breathe out as small broken bits that even in winter come by to talk, bring you lips a number, a street, a place. * This cup feeds itself clinging to your lips as if each star once unearthed already has an aroma though it’s a small claim and you have to fill it twice with dirt, pour so the arch circles back barefoot, smells from stones no longer too heavy let go or fingers, jaws, winds that keep nothing for later not this wooden table not the wooden chair not a word and overhead another morning all its own. * Afraid and the wall follows behind though you point, know all about descent and hammer blows as the distant cry from home –you sift between as if this ready-mix no longer cares about stone broken open against one finger retracing some caress lost and the others with no end to it. *
Easy, this lake sheds its bark and each ripple makes room :birdcalls and the sky almost raining wider and wider –a great tree fallen on its roots and each splash leafs out dead rids itself and those same footsteps passing you naked taken away as shadows and ice weighted down holding you back –simple! you toss and this tiny stone is further and further the deep breath no longer choking water and birdsong.
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