So little to go on, the light heave of the zipper,
a disposition of flightless birds never so still,
sunken. She took me down the glazed
hill one morning, fumbling through sunflower
fields--a god's view. Somewhere is a word
between those words we throw like rocks
welling out of the hard ground. I fit
your glasses over the sunken hazel
and tell you we're visiting islands, any islands.
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