Kristin K. Withers
Windchimes In A Root Cellar
wiping throat to ear
I was identifying things – father, fog,
the swan – by the act of negating
the swan – by the act of negating
there is a large black box // we are all inside it
covenant and a generative angle tracing
covenant and a generative angle tracing
& at times I find myself not far from the harbor
having little visions as jurisdictions
having little visions as jurisdictions
& having died almost quietly my body is
not somebody but it
not somebody but it
is
figuring
& vernix warp
& weft, yet deft
& weft, yet deft
in the dimness there were
windchimes in a root cellar
windchimes in a root cellar
sirens in screaming scent
wiping throat to ear
wiping throat to ear
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