to the meadows where the phantoms play
and rocks write books on water
chessboards of glass in dripping stacks
assemble from fiber optic air
their own favorite pieces
scenery is speaking to the dream
of a single face
courts of empty speech erupt inward
pouring shiny clay into
seal-safe basements
where strings of ethereal steel
play the walls with cables
long docks from a plastic ramp of state
where mute men fish from dim vibrating piers
the fluorescence of these darkened years.
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