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"on the way to the ice"


to run
I ran
my strong heart
through anything

as if each time we’d loved

desolate snake
the view was accidental

open the window
it’s warm
we may be smiling
you would be exhausted
no beginning no end
when it breathes
it’s safe
it’s safe
this is good

our great danger
you know
because—no,
and yet—
of course

a safer place
gone to a better place
and such as: with my hand
in the fire, as Brancusi would say

be more efficient (quiet)
more personal
I don’t know, experiment
see the minute turn

break it on the way out


. . .


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