Dark water gives light

layers—lives a clouded root,

signal instant of the mudborn

minnow. Laughter in the level



what say,

synapse, of

nothing, a some-break


in the onrush of knowing?





In the velvet fabric

of bone-matters,

lines continue

on the bone


that once infused a lively

love, long word, primal fear

of knowing





desperate to prove the



root, the childhood



nonsense understanding

of trees beneath

the canopy,


of distant conversations





nervine maps along a lost



lost luck

in a clouded root–


Networks continue

to infiltrate.


A map mirrors

cloud ligations.






There are no right

angles beneath the skin.


Reach into the stream—

the current

reorders itself,


engulfs the line.



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