the sky or some further attic
frame rimmed with frosted lilac
at the exit from the woods
where trees darken fast
at headphone sundown
when spiders of tainted fluff
float in the air
and wood handles gather.
Blonde on the ax blade
the sun slants like unrhymed ivory
hones in on the heart of dirt
sweet molecules
I wrung it from them
now they wring it from me
swans flit as the cliffs pour tea.
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