an ice-carved eye flirts with a sunset the color of chili paste and in its reflections finds two wooden statues, arms upraised and listening with bejeweled ears to the mountain's wamble and to the dowering snow moving against a stillness until it is all that moves, and knowing that it's observed seizes time to slow the paper light and to slow the silken disk that continues to spin, each microsecond gem becoming its own eclipse Pewter mountain alabaster Skies a billowing laundry vent A man on a ladder torches Rotten shingles with black slick Against drafts of frozen rain |
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