• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 11
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Carry what you have in your left hand
A carrot on the second day of spring
I’m radiating a blueness: that is
otherworldly, a sketched figure
hovering by my right side

It is my third eye

The landscape leaks.
The wind washes dry leaves.
Sun rays melt the sky:
a shadowy cloud splits
embraces its other

dissolving on the horizon line

It doesn’t make it any easier
this warm air that hides its past
The sun’s searing circular script
hurts my eyes. I focus my gaze west
stare with equal intensity

blurry mess of colour

I take my carrots— yes,
there are two now, one in each hand—
the jar of bugs I collected as a child
Spelling wings, brash lines, eight feet
and continue my vigil