and blood handprints in the moss
become separate gardens
hinges creak in many fortress walls
I am walking with a drifting forest
strutting backwards on its locked lakes
letting the sky's choruses pour
wrapping bones in frayed reels
a grid of gilded frames descends
on blank paved lots
and painted concrete elves
the scraping of chain tied steel boxes
all the egg weight of swivelling hips
gone to dispersing space
the veins of thicker doors
seed flung talking like skulls of water
fumes aching to make skin grade
deer's bed beneath a cone bright pine
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