Locating No

This is where most fall, cool, feathered

like haze from a half-slit window—


This is where slow comes down

in the morning, an almost full

notion of being, (that is to say

elegantly human;  open & closed.)


Push open the rhythm of no

I’ll find blue-black in your falling crevice

Push open the sound of water’s flow

on Mars, rising like dust

on your palm in the afternoon.

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