:::

 

Lift the depth out of your fist

you do not die as quickly in your question

as the bowl of your hands is filled

by the bloody answer

the imitated volume follows

the mistakes back in its clown

to clear the wasteland of song

to clear the dripping tears of walls

to move the green into itself

to move the green into

the mountain of soles

throw a loop over the strongest branch

lift me up above you

lift you up above me

like a soft cell lays down

into the grace.