from Reproductions of the reproductions of the empty
XVII. (THE CHASE
You feel
your brow
compress
to sutures
as you
consider
the limpid
light. The
edges of
your vision
are rimmed
in gold.
Once, you
inhaled dust
from a forgot
-ten town.
When he
smiled, he
blinded you
with teeth—
you blinked.
As lashes
fluttered open
you gleaned
a trail
of smoke
evaporating
from a
cup of tea
suddenly
in your hand.
“Mother, how
did you come
to speak
like this?”
Chiffon dresses
once swayed
with the breeze.
She paused
turned to
offer you
an orange.
You will
always remember
the experience
of peeling
away thick
hide—jagged
remnants cling-
ing to nails
and skin.
“Discuss how
the tilt of
a clock’s
minute hand
is both fraught
with meaning
and inconsequential.”
These memories
form a single
weight—you
are the one
offering an
extended palm
open and
trusting the
fall of light
against flesh
surrounding
your life lines.
Air spills.
Your gaze
follows, sees
footsteps
conscientiously
straddling
the thinned
excuse for
a rope.
***
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