french doors, pierced
by saffron light: i stand,
chatter to the birds, find relief
in the vastness of sky
as shelter, as twine
enveloped in spider fingers,
weaving, weaving.
i brush the breeze aside,
still this nervous house,
this house of dreams reflected
in quiet deliverance; time
to clink my glass, spill drops
in libation: thank the unseen stars
for all of this, for all of this.
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Submission Name: spinning june
