spoor me
where you go
in the silver snow,
in the daylight that veers
to a pace enclosing
time undimensioned—
I would like to inhabit
another room prismatic,
wear warlike hair cincturing
marmoreal sun—
tell me the number
(try to whisper):
your test of vigor,
my likely hour…
October 23, 2025
who describes me in the dark
and with candid purpose adorns me
in aberrant courage—
you shall I praise ever:
spirit of soft broadcast,
whose hand is my art’s lush notation
demarcating glory from stranded sleep
marooned in that very allotment of night
where I am the proper rendition
and you the tutelary dream
I dare shelter beneath
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