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An indigo ex-goddess
to roost in my ribs

& warn my heart of waylaying:

the concept breaks
& beautifully enters me.

My own canary, my own mine.

Vagrant angel of
convalescence, you picked

the ornithology lab lock as if

it were a box’s last
match.

were so. Eyeless in this arsenic

dark, I ransack
floor-to-ceiling drawers

by index finger, over & over