Stitch by stitch
I feel this out
put it back together.
I do not want to name my sisters for you
or give a name to the last time I cried.
I do not want to see the little gods swirling
in the eddies.
Or the clear blue pools of sturgeon fish.
I will count the pews three by three
lose my stare in a starry night.
No Orion to cloud my vision.
For every pattern in the dew
there is a spinning door we did not open.
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