Sun Shining Through the Spine of a Book

Lacuna durch the spine, straight through
can unslumbered sun our bones perdit.
Take away the strips of smoked ink
and plaster them to the walls of flesh
my unsunned eyes have called home.
Locked under key and ground, as river
above flowed around, its shallows in
sun-heavy blankets keep, its profound
in tenebricosum trop aise.  That foreign
matting of detritus shade, umbrage to
rereveal that story, sun pined to paint.


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