there are pauses,
like right before a storm,
too ghastly to explain,
or not at all. Safety exists
within sorrow--
how I have felt this knotted quilt
flapping over my heart
like a wind-blown bed-sheet
hanging out to dry
blowing in the oceanic wind,
like the arched back of a woman,
the weight of a puzzle, a fire
kindling, clothed by your
backbone, bright as silver.
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