the valve of the unvitiated moment


she knows that this is a floating

time on a floating ship, that she is

the floating, not the ship, nor the

captain, and that every thing outside of


time and space is the static pulled

taut across seas that hangs gray

garments in place and occasionally

dances and sings and means; in the valve


of the unvitiated moment she sees

the delicate moving of a good and

gentle quiet, like the breath of moth

wings against a hungry breeze.


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