she breathes under the alarm
of what felt like sun-blazen
mornings, lifeless walls and
doors and hinges and bolts
make up for what could
be a sanctuary, the wounded
light crashed against the
mystery of this omen you
call 'alone,' searching paradigms
and dimensions belonging
to one tangent of peace -
that which you hold,
that which you put forth,
that which you devour.
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