Take it as a song, a black
vapor hanging in the sky low

enough to engulf the Rockies
replaying in a dream of your face:

Low-light eyes fading, he paves
the waves flat and leaves me

to wander the dawn alone–I pickFading
hydrangea through the salted haze.

Time to stop pretending we’re
more than plagues from your tongue

and arms, those shrines lingering
long, wanted embrace for protection

against sand rounding us off in daylight.
Can’t sleep away those eyes like

darkness at moonlight, hear your murmurs
again, they hold me, sing to me

until all I can think about is lying
under shade in this shadow-ruled city,

feeling chills to raise me up, ghosts
of hunters, hinterlands, hollow bones…


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