Smoke softens the trees, a swift omen scented before seen.It warps what it brings, from the sun to grief.
I stir on the stoop I rent. All around me wasps shimmy,Orange alphabet of knives. I call them father and son
Until my tongue blisters. I chew the queen into bitsAnd for a moment, we understand each other
Her children and I, the way a believer understands God:As a largeness capable of being
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