Some vague attention
of wind stirs the golden oats
-Joanne Kyger
Desolate film,
haunt that totality
where we opera.
The size of Finland
my invisible alto.
Dream-starve the
metallic gauze of permanence.
A stethoscope heard itself,
left us thumping.
Drenched in owls,
these mysterious data.
Forests allow themselves that exact tangle.
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