The old crust veneer of the gilding to this life

spills through the crack in time’s leaking vessel

Undone in the mangrove whirl of shadow imagination,

our lust; the last leaf, dried between the weight of words

forms the silence of the tomb, of an unopened book’s eternal verse

and climbs the mast of our blind balance of body

our star stuck resin, the amber sap of inured self

and seals inside the melt of the lunar gap

along the sky layered in lapse

to harness the open map of mind, the un-constellated white

satin braille of the sailing stars, against the backlight of night,

where you will find me a moonchild, on a honey scar crescent

gathering glowing pebbles of my first words

in the scratch and claw of my true birth

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