Tuesday, March 31, 2020

The wet deck
sighs and casts us off.

Mittens and foam blocks
are floating on a miles deep sea.

Surf is eating
but bodies are eating too
into the arc light that calls them.

Severing dark that calls me
when will you give me my burden of fruit
to carry through the scaly passageway
between worlds?  Only in the perfect
universal blood, this jagged peace
drifting through compact traffic
that is not known, can be

the solitary breakers,
the ice trickle
and the galaxy wide rag
sailing into no number

vague Earth shaking on its shopping bag.

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