Her Time

This is that time barely-there fog dims finities

inside the ivy-walled border   absolute clarity


Lit fog on an upper gate-arc edge

under falls of branchlets on the verge

you go through   go beyond

into what air-density makes remote


Uncanny   that sense of it   the in-between of it

was – is   long ago – now

born in your body


while inside the outside

migrants seed-picking between the cracks

proclaim not dying   not not dying

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