Colors cannot imagine. Feet for
Family, campgrounds. Door
Open, head down. The rusted
Hole in the world sees the
Floor rush by.

Wonder in gravel and dunegrass and
Sound. Hands for flying, bodies
Lunge through clouds and seas of
Innocence and silt. Shale
For sitting. No one

Makes the words
To voice. Only
Shrugs and rolls. And
That’s ok. Better nothing
Than the other: to deny
The sun setting over Lake
Michigan as song that
Screams through every
Pore is lying.

Rusted body
Rushes by
The world
To make
The sea.


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