Kasper
Salonen
| (cold)
spell the gnat snaps like a glass pot of honey stung open in frost & caught dead by the sun — apologetic killer, sad moon-thief possessed by an undersea wind, shocked at its blood in the evening (gold dust swirling where summer shoulders its alembic—) the south wind finds another spring evening—clouds are a thin vapour of some great burning, the amassed escapees of a river on fire, and a ricepaper disc thinner than the days before a death in winter gleams like a coin, a monocle through which a planet looks— a new freeze settles in, warming a new world back to the spontaneous wisdom of insects, the whoops of busy dogs, the sea birds making a show of it inland, the asphalt. snow creeps back to its stony core, leaving archipelagos in the grass and us to wonder which on a map would be land, which the ocean's cool, thunderous lap on the seabed's sand. >>>Larissa
Schmailo
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