Seed widely on a different page,
pass it across the table to me
making a gesture at forgiveness.
The difference between us is between us
and is keeping us from falling apart,
is mapping us in blisters:
the sinner sight of the full moon.
We are waiting to be caught in the wind,
the crow cry gin gurgling in our bellies like black coals.
The river bass shoals cup the Northern soul
into water held palms,
scramble egg whites and dig holes
to keep us from sticking together.
Until the end, when it was all said,
I am confused again.
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