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I Shovel Into the Heart to Find Its Naked Face


ISSUE:  Spring 2017


Chambers fall to splinter gravel.
Leaf grows from my throat. 

Walls forsake the crumpled ground
It is meant to hold up.

There is much so
A cavity will collect. 

I ask to exit from the house:
Spirit of paper temple,
Spirit of cooking fire,

Sentinel at the door, what keeps
Within the loft. 

This burns in heaven with
Remembrance of dust: 

Spirit of kindling,
Inside the gourd.

My pocket keeps the disfigured
Orange years, 
Used wooden
Matches.

I pin myself to the land-living
Slipping surely everborn.

 

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