The Fifth House

If I could only get you mountainside, coax you over fire, repressions.

I’ll leave the lamp on, so your phantom
fingerprints shine while you’re gone.

Lift blue veils, screen through all
the spheres convincing themselves

of invisible threads spiraled around
you, grasping for something none

of us can see, waiting until salt seas
evaporate… I’d give him any

of the treasure held in the murky sand
at the lowest elevation on this full

and heavy planet–but I truly have
small hands, tiny inception’s touch.

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