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A geography for your character can be learned

only after the blind cord frays. I feel impatience,

a gift perhaps, but when applied in retrospect

only a small comfort brought hence

across a footbridge, over carelessly spaced boards.

As if expecting a lamp to be lit by someone else, I await guests.

Await inexactitude. Whether or not you comply

I’ll glide across the lawn in my head, away from roses planted

before we moved here or moved together at all. Herein

my reward, with grace we can settle into

as water streams down the panes and our breath condenses opposite.

In search for transport, a new cut spurns its source,

and absolution is all we need now to become complementary.

The vicinity calls out bookishness and chastises those

who have put off visiting for so long, but I like it anyway

and once again look past the rings on the table, treated

like a wing. Treats the medium like air. A deterrent unfurls

above the buildings in view, so gentle like its own breeze

so creatively laid out like all we choose among,

stark in labor, light before. Unable to generate

anything but noise we settled for thought, sorted out

whose errors were whose and added these to accumulations.

The time laid aside for further mulling has healed

into rope and twisted on itself while we idled nearby

in a game. Now that we have learned all this

an application can be sought, undone, a glistening lake.