calling the slinking sun to come!
come here and bring me flowers!
a tumble of hair
stiffens into curls
under the wind
all kinds of prepositions
to explain why it's like this
dragging a bottle of red
by its neck
the texture is yellow the texture is gold
a mere one and only creature gone spinning
gone speaking
the flowers are told
their color has faded
a tear flecks off into space.
the quicker burst of light
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