---
Pink ribs in the late sky and birds
running fingers
on that body—
touched me,
too, and if
sunsets are
made of wet eyes
however they
come about
then at
least there’s seeing
going on.
Try drawing the
face of the
last ride home from
memory and
see if the eyes you cross-
hatch aren’t
a bit bigger than before.
Then, breathe
on your own neck and go
to bed early
so that you might rise in time
to glimpse a new body
to glimpse a new body
barely lit.
---
There’s an
indefinite design of things
recognizable:
of showerings and
sitting by
the ways and of
lips soft
with salad dressing so
let’s talk
bodies about the good day gone—
of running
to water and shivers
of brining
foam just there and the
echoes of
laughter on a wind
whistling itself and if you press
your fingers
into your eyes hard enough
you can
still see the stars come out
in the city.
in the city.
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