Dance of
pylons. Sweat once
gathered in our
shared rills,
surge and forge.
The cold sign -
dim aros dros nos.
The rangy aborted
dog of a prince
still laps at
these powerful lakes.
Sisters, siskin
appear only so far up
and in the day. Sage-
femme. A radio transmitter,
a bent wire
you have been
unhooked from.
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