charm for salvaging disparate bits of perfection
Nic Sebastian
in a land of pouring cloud
a boy rides alone
over a wide plain
and finds one tree
lying spread-eagled
on pricking grass beneath it
he feels the thick soil
humming deeply
he remembers
a white stone monastery
on the edge of a chasm
under black mountains
and wheeling falcon
he remembers gleaming marshes
lit by dead suns
watched over by headless
stone lions
I am the golden snake
gliding into you, my inside
is wider by far
than my outside
eyes closed
he feeds this perfect thought
slowly into the brown earth
his horse shifts restlessly
beneath the tree
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