Wanting the Ten-Fingered Grasp of Things
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At this portion of the curve
where quartz is ground, the ocean brokers
broken wares. Energy is cursive, cold and beautiful.
Mare. You have imagined here
to yield up counting. Beyond the wide
disquiet of the gulls, horizon is the love of bonfire.
In the haptic scripture, all cups are running over.
To think what blood cannot accommodate.
To feel what it can.
