was this that

was this was that
vulgate for the knees




mourn with its keen
hawk splaying its round circle




tide in the tearing of its vowel pressed

face









between voice in the
vulgate by the








breaking over the quilt
whisper close to face
hidden plucked in the ear





half-covered face to the eye

lettings its smile parade
orate at the curtain







parting its eyes






































once fretted open
winking backward
its no win








winsome