[Response to: Last day on earth.]

the objects of the garden, robbed of visual indicators, identify their noses against the wall. a character reappears in stone, heads down to the weeds. the water of the garden, its drops on its floor, falls on crossed sticks. stars bracket the open thicket. these are the directions for seeing but not the directions for being seen. other persons are seen blindly in blue air, arms catching on the air. some days become cleverer than high heaven. others emerge like a scattered rain around nightfall, reports least attended. the marine blotches of the brain’s first day.


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