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December 16, 2023

This is a partial collage: I started this poem by pulling words from a translation of “The Pipe” by Stéphane Mallarmé, but as I assembled it I felt the urge to go in a new direction.

I found a fine winter.
I forgot the room, the first roads.
I was planning my sun,
shivering shining work, morning
shaved to a point.
Instead I breathed in
shock and brilliance.
All the better joys, the fires
would curl and stretch.
But this cold thumping,
carrying me towards
a flash, a blank white glimmer.
Oh, to venture
into that brittle,
the breaking open.
To slip off this coat, leave it
in the snow and breathe.

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