A teacher’s lost property

barefoot soul, sketched

through chicken wire lenses
floats in spaces criss-cross

vexing her body,

as the pixel splattered

frey of her borderless image

stirs shy dust with the pulse

undulating earth into the clover

clouds, she palm pockets, above

the valley’s tread of herself

where they peer at her, behind

the stare she has learned not see,

she falls under night, green

glowing larval markings

defend her mapped moist wings

and she hatches a face

with the dark’s parasitic grains,

crests a butterfly in the waves

her wingwind orchestrates-

surging in dream

she sees them playing,

begging to invent the infinite

incapacity of her world;

and so, the unconscious stirring

stippling her shadow


the more

it’s light is hidden

barefoot soul, live

in the art the word

has taught us to forget

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