to the heartland
breathing, the body
the city turns to corn
one at a time like teeth
corn turns to sky, flat
your hand perhaps here
the center a river-dug canyon
skin, nerve, spine, sun
falls away and stars
hurtle light to a point
to a pupil, through years
or the moon gives us back our shadow
or the dark we don’t know
not a distance, not quite
a ruin or a name
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