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After all the planning the planning
the planning, gridwise
that failed in buckets
failed
gratefully we enter the mystery

nothing in particular need happen next--
cosmos on the backs of my hands
and if I turn them over
will it spring from the lines
that police identify
on the other side

Salt grain highway
opens in the quartz of your eye
without, sting for love's dimension
washes its material impact
free of irritation, spirited mineral--

but bring it back for dinner, dear
spring's windows condition air
as a flung baseball bat
connects against the chainlink--