& tell the abyss the darkness is

The moonlight is warming &
the breeze which sweeps
transposes the seeds and growth is in

the underbrush. Tell the abyss it’s
nearly dawn—that time runs parallel
to furrowed brows and intersects

the weary; that it’s the
pebbles, not the stones, that pave a riverbed
raw and running; that mountains exist

and still we mark the plaster walls
with yard stick sharpies. Humor her
with honeyed words, warm her

with the gentle exhale; with a deeper
pot the pine tree grows bigger.

Soften the jaw and tell it
the darkness is temporary.

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