Harpist
Fingertips
poised these thousands of years, adjusting
flutter
of a gull’s wing over roof, or under chandelier.
The
apparently effortless rays burgeon, strings now not
of the
instrument, not exactly, but of deep-sea fishes
bellying
fin up, fin down, fin over. Love position after regard
trails
eye. The charcoal baton, somehow, as if the drawing
implement
were the drawn itself, prehistoric strings
vibrating
in a way imprecise to me now.
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