and I pass mine back to them.
Colors of delight and fire
fly between our crooked fingers
themes of spines adjusted
through unstructured fields of space.
Strategies of angels
falling through volcanic mouths.
Dice bouncing on the frozen bridge
that leads under the highest tower,
a laser focusing to burn.
The head gear in the grid
turning rust to oil
resembling the divine stem
trembling to meet a clay urn
with water's yearning.
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