La Feill Moire
I already gave you a plan. Heliocentric
smoke signals.  Sunwise. Sojourner, I told you
                        you must shut the one swallow
            within your mouth. Shut within vesper, the whole
of the afternoon. You knew
                        without doubt the incomplete animal I’d become. 
                                                                        Small vice, my delusion. You multiplied
 
the consequence of the dead. You whispered it. You blessed fields. Among patterns
in my voice you rose. I followed your irregular direction, the necessary
                         fragment, later knives and trees. You appeared to pass
among those I loved. Quickly you offered blight. Bright hawks
                        as a swift shimmering geometric. Spotted leaves you encouraged
among maples.  What supplication must failure bring me. Your location’s trail
permits a cold grace. My feck of immunity, your air. 
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