I’ll know you from odd vantages:
uncounted time, heart-shaking tempests
against the incandescent eye, silent reach
of sequoias for partner in space, jangle of roots
no swifter than blood, October moth’s struggle
at light, vulture toss incredibly high on
a cross-wind and tumble-wait, pain
yet to come, for what's lately done:
and an image in my ear soft as
a poem left in an old Latin
diary three tiers of lava
have taken to bed.
 

 
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