Ink spills the thread, spreading





I could blink

and it would be gone


Hear that

clear ringing? A tone crisp enough

to pierce the film that keeps us clean in-

side. Birds call, but not like this. In

body ready

to move, to pounce

an eye on the lines, the trace of my soul


Look into it, reading my mind.


Where did the summer go and why did it lie

By telling the minty taste to turn sour?

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