Monday, October 3, 2016


If we can make it across the day
Make it past the smiling priest
Make it past the jade-hilted knife
Whose blade is curved and black
If our tongue speaks no treason
Against the sun then it may be
That night will give us shelter
Wrap us softly in shadows
Put us gently in a drawer
With bright pebbles and feathers
And lost cogs and the things
She means sometime to fix.

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