Explain to me the mechanics
of force and favor
and how twilight
milks daydreams from the skin
and weaves them into
a taboo mise en scène
tantamount to a revelation
but with only once horse
in silhouette
and a song with no words;
show me where heather rambles
freely over rocky hillsides
and grassy tombs.
We will meet when we can count
the crumbs of our bones.
Our hearts will sing
a terrific screaming prayer.
The Word Rummager 
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