There is a window, where a shimmer means


where a rattle causes pates to ache, to hollow, to crack. 


there is a doorway, that splits shins and withers bodies

ripe, dark;

to collect pieces 

that spilt out when no one was looking, when no one had eyes, as a meadow,

hasn’t a breeze, to bend it

to life. 

I haven’t touched

the waters, only waded into

the sea; and dreamed, and opened, and followed the visions 



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