field after square field
multiplying toward the incline
that cuts them off into the air
ferns of the soil's feeling
blowing on a cracked ledge
what the roots understand in rot
as I hold in my hand your glowing embers
jewels or some clump of hair
you left behind
to gather me like a twig
in a rolling snowball
to set me up in some galactic ray
and melt me true to form.
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