[1]

T H R O U G H   A  C R A C K  I N  T H E   S A L O N

 

It was a swift

limen swerve

where I was bodiless,

something other than a form.

 

I outgrew me,

spread lengthwise

in airtight ratios.

 

Whatever I became,

it ranged astonishment.

It assumed the very vastness

 

which made me first alone.

 

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