Teresa Sparks

our concerns are of planets and stars



and love in such a way that each possibility
finds her language
a rhyme in the grass

here are the paths in lefts and rights
his logic can hold a mirror up
but does not blow sand into glass

and shards are not sand again
august and golden in the low sun
a star whose metal pulling this way
shifts the stitch “an occultly significant”
distance from home

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