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“A Thinking B”

“A Thinking B”

I filled myself up with earth,
thinking: when does transformation occur?
when does all become set straight?
My hands belabor being, are you
in this world upright, known and completely
flout with the tiniest sign of weakness-
a lodger in longing, figuring it out, day long
taste of almonds all shiver
and waiting final hour, the mother
is gone from her house,
you will not find her again,
no matter the things you didn’t say.

It is ‘must keep’, every crevice of place,
that, over there, this mark of depletion
carving out space in you-
hand signed, the initials of your father,
to be rich in loss is to be poor in rib,
in right angle, format, packed rut,
to be stop clock, run out of the ugly strain
you had, at birth, learned how to navigate,
spin into sweaters, worn never.

I enter the same way I exit, logical-
that there might always be lock-down,
nest and need, organon-
this is where love lays itself in light,
you must only watch, tell us
what you see, measure it,
grieve it not, it is un-owned, this tremble
of yours.

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