i bend down to one
knee to ask the soil

what is the purpose of these poems?
the soil is despondent.
raw, fallen leaves learning
to harden. they can’t
remember the moon’s

unadulterated touch.

if you shine, can i see you
through a telescope? or is
your shine silent like the
night you took your closed eyes
to a place i am not privy to

in dreaming.

loss is loud. thunder
is just noise.

how much of me
can i give the world
without the moon’s
x-ray irises displaying
me along hallways
as something easy

to undress?

each breath a pardon,
an early release.


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