Two final footsteps echoed against the scratched glass door
& off we were—
murmuring swampy lives away,
lobbing for ourselves the God-given champagne
against the bobbing she-queen, Queen of the Nile.

Life was in bubbles, great wads
of the stuff, tacky & sweet and still
criss-crossed in hot-blooded pen—

the deeper we burrowed in our footstep murmurs,
the deeper we saw;

until the hole grew so lightless
so breathless
so pointless

we found refuge.

In a dustless place
of cause and effect, we cleansed
ourselves,
wiped off the edits with leaves of grass—
and let it go.

Like dry, sapless timber
we were lit with fire
&
slept warm, loose–
counting blessings with pebbles
in
bliss of total
stillness.

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