in the between is silence
poetry that didn’t sprout wings
longings that settled for settling
beneath blade of grass
and trembling rock

in the distance is promise
the grasses more verdant
an end-of-day meal
intimacies known

in the here there’s stoppage
if you will, that is
and a rolling of maps
and neat put-away
in a library with a name
‘best left unread’

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