Hope Chest
The box full of things - unnamed as they are -
hold the history of place in the reflection imposed surface
The sun comes from behind eclipse - it
momentarily explodes - loses itself - becomes a break in the lack of air
This is opening - a seam of paper tape - a fold
sun echoing in pulp - in dust
What are these broken lines of thought
burning a hole in the universe of a closet - they flap like broken doves
Beak cracks - the rubble of it - a light bearing
fruit - rotting and burning and searing the faces of memory
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