We should be close now,
but then again it could be
another decade or two.

Handhold after handhold,
we learn by touch the longest
part of a minute, the bluest

edges of a shadow.
Inside each cell, there is
either breathing or not

breathing. Soft grey
is the color of certain
parts of earliest

morning. Noon is always
overhead, a chandelier
whose sounds reflect

circles struck by birds
when they’ve returned
to the river.

The moon appears
only as reminder: it’s time
to fold your sleeve into a pillow.


In response to Via Negativa: Landmark.

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