11/Rosary of Summer

We fear therefore to repeat ourselves
like the wash of waves on the shore

Words are burn-out arsenal
to fire at what whips the heart:
loss & gain
sacral & profane
names & events
heart of stone
& heart of unicorn

Yet every blank sheet moves the hand
to bereaven:  dot, comma, ellipsis
this silence of the mind
that scourges the white space
between fingers & page

We scribble off strange equations:

Think then of sea & scape:
how times & signs
smoke in the language of rocks & leaves

Everywhere, your face emerges:
peace between teeth of imagined wars

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