rearriving..

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rearriving..

and I push

the door open

fallen

ash on the grate

heather and feather

dessicated

from a low sun

branched dials point to corners

the cold bed

the cobwebbed pump

from transparent matter

a conversation of sea and song

I throw my map into the fireplace

banked embers rise

living water flows

tea steeps

outside in the wind

woven blankets flap

in cool undercurrents

wandering geese

fly home