Cart away the feathers of crows and
The red dirt of ruination.
Mix them in an iron bowl
Fresh with the salve of patience.
Stacked in a corner under a low roof
The hides of raw harvesting are
Scrimshawed by the dragon’s tooth.
Outside on poles hard and black with
Cheap ichor, the skeins of
Unused love claw at the wind
And lose their
Scarlet, fade
To pink and then
Whiten
Into ghosts
When every electron turns to light
rendered with all the rest
there will still be a
you
and an all seeing
I
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