Monday, August 29, 2011

A season begins.

This air we replenish--
It was never in danger.

Moths plump on the dust in our closets.
We were eaten away from, but we were never

In danger.

What words you could find if you searched where
Displaced bits of outer space await.

These bite marks represent the fabric we risked
And in the course of a season folded--

But we were never in danger.

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