I eye this fence at night:
darkness billows, runs past it.
I think of wearing a word
and crossing over the fence -
quitting for an hourglass' worth of time
the world of pretense.
Blue, the banks; red, the brook -
beyond the fence I only look -
look at the barrenness that may
bloom me and itself
once I cross the fence
for a tiny hourglass' measure of time?
I seed wait into the window pane -
nothing blooms.
Darkness wags a tail,
unwelcome, yet so inside
my side of the fence.
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