Two windows almost
almost face each other.
Where the room
is kind to me
and bodiless.
come to be more sensitive
over eons. Weak
signals accumulate,
pressed into
a code I envy.
The code pressed into clay.
Devotion is primitive.
Depth’s ombre,
hills dulling,
a small thousand years.
Boy arms.
Girl kings. Light
with a crook in the middle
turns hued, skittish.
The matter of earth
sometimes animating.
A good half-eye,
then eye.
A good body.
A colony
of stomachs. Heat
hopes to settle
A hug I think in.
The black symbols
I hear.