rare bird

 

Unfold in vastness, inhale bright ether

above, a perfect liquid mirror.

 

She speaks in primal silence

billows against blustering skies-

time by the trillions, honing sharper edges

beds of sand melt in soft glass eyes.

 

Night becomes her, his slipping obsidian smile

she wears it easily against her thighs.

 

She digs shallow graves for naivety

facades in the ground as ammonites;

stumbles out of smoldering paradise

to bathe in scathing sunlight.

2018.

© grace whatley, 2020

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