No hands
featuring ringed fingers on hands of
lead that sink into the bedside sleepy eyes
a moth dives repeatedly at its firegod
she says something about sailors and
sirens and I put her to bed to sleep her
angel dreams beside me gasping occasionally be-
tween apneas and laughing dog hallucinations in
summer grass in summer skin in fall economies
I she senses a climate shift and a crisp teething in
the push of air when she walks to school
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