Written by Jennifer Wise
Silence churns moments to blur.
A six upends somewhere far from here
And out shouts the face a choir of nines.
I think the limbs are rejoicing on three;
Nothing is as it should be.
I’d count the announcement out on fingers
If I could walk over my fears on a rope of exposure,
But I am not coordinated,
And the breadcrumbs at my feet behind these panes
Will not be eaten.
Text © Jennifer Wise
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