Widow spinners grace
watered slots, sheltered
floors, a pale blue–
berry, thistle ensnared in
paper-thin iron, crystal

Look at them from shadow,
behind orange irises –
mud-myth poisonous
touch of dust

Without information, the sky
resonates peace
expanse of blue-skin, the
unfamiliar pricking

frees pearls to resurrect
from human skin, invades
every diamond of night
of tongue, of marrow

In square inches of droplet
threading, sway-shallow
electricity, crater sticky
crawls earthward


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