ash of bones on a shore that fades
the light that sweeps like a wind
closets packed with grimy dollars
colors streaking from the mouths
of lightning-struck pipes
the seams of pain-stitched images
fountain-formed people laughing
I find the tape of conversations
tied around a field of nodding daffodils
rippling from the branches
of a bent orchard
this acid cake of yearning land
the rivers of my rivers that are hands
horns picking the apples
bird bones on trays of china
left behind on a squirming map
as the landscapes flap.
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