When I left

I walked straight, and the parabola of the

Sun carved a tangent behind the softly bruised hills.

The sky drained, and the sour

Lemon moon tacked left and left again,

An indifferent disclosure of wan sulfuric paint with a

Cold sting.

I walked until my feet rubbed raw on the scored

Pavement and I felt the blood filling up my shoes.

And I hovered,

And rose, unblinking, at the

Leaves, glazed with lavender and seaglass,

The chrysalis forever frozen, my legs

Completely numb.

-David M.J. Hoffman

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