Thursday, December 6

gratissima, habias gratia

as if saved from drowning, the world springs to motion again,
slowly in its waking, expelling the water from its breath-
cutting out the sorrow, & the fragile death.

out, out of my nightmares
flows a gemmy plume,
a jewel-toned open from the center of the bloom-
brickest red, skyest blue.
the ivy climbs the higher smokestack,
my soul climbs the walls of the room.

and each leaf crinkling off the tree is a cold and golden coin,
a train token towards distant lands.
i am not in control.
this is not in my hands.

I yell across farmlands, but I can't move one stalk of wheat.
I count miles like moments, hoping to float away-
wait, wait-
there will be a day.

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