47.2 - Spring 2018

Page 189

Feeding on gold light, filtered. I wish I knew what you were sinking. Which words put you to sleep. How often my name occurs in paper masks. Folding nests of years. Apothecaries, scruples and drams. I lived in your mouth. Indivisible. You were an echo and I a sound. Faith without ordinary consent. Which words encoded bring you into a diaristic frame. The tiniest knot ever tied.

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