when I say something witty –

 

out, because your insides can’t bear

to be in. Whatever you pulled inside

I deflated. I didn’t even need a pin.

 

I saw you. When you were under the fig tree

I saw you.

 

While you loaf,

I’ll be under lamplight

tracing the shadow of my hand

on the table.

 

All I am, the pitcher of thought

without the thought

of preservation.

 

Unlike you,

unlike salmon,

my back will break

 

the surface. You are the ahhh

of eternal dimension. I am the oh

of a punched stomach.

 

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