Ghosts | criss-crossing | night air

The living in their | shrouds of memory | are called out, called | back

Moth minds / fluttering

The air is mild and the blue of the night so very, very dark… (it hides vertigo)…

These paths, and yet not these paths | This mountain, the peak hidden at the base, yet we climb <going back, the route is different | gold throne>

Insects dock to nocturnal flowers, clamber over spotted | petals

We think of the fires long burnt out, the pollen / clots our fingertips… (it shows falling)…

Kisses, embers

settle

Chrysalis of silver || The chrysalis / in all things

 


from the series hypergrammar (open-ended, 2012–present)

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