The firmament of finding shoes, whole pictographic notebooks, mirrors, jade and emeralds, fastened belt-buckles, remodeled kitchens-- the old appliances lift in our homeland-- manifestos, new potatoes, boats that bring us close in to the rocks, wet salt ropes to ascend, cliffs' spray to negotiate/scramble/claw.
Michael Collins in his previously undonned black suit and hat, no one left to protects, defend, speak for, die for, die for, die for--we all have arrived. Are made whole. At once. Again. Continuously in this place meadow and new. Begin and proceed.
There is nothing new under our sun but our hands in praise of daughters, us, we, lead one each another to new dark lands as feversome as the last.
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