distance precedes us

distance precedes us


the space between feather

threads where the distance

is too far—your hand

passes over your face

this time


within the privet

wings thunder and recede

branches in the mouth

of the afternoon


we bend to pour our

selves into holes

left behind by thought


unlabeled undersides,

the thicket crowns above—


of what we think we know


and all the chattering voices

and car sounds in the distance

the call of a train, it all depends

on how you see yourself


infinite, unnamed potentials,

or pregnant stillness

that comes before the quake




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