The world hangs | from threads of breath: | eggs | sunflowers | your mother’s | touch

Summer had gathered | the empty room | The white | nets | belled and | slumped | as the breeze | rose and | fell | Ghostly | Madonnas and | weddings | Omelettes | the moon | a door | slamming | the sound of footsteps | running away | down the street || Broken things are merely | changed things || only, sometimes, we can’t | let the breaking | go

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from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)

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