i write along the edges of a thing i cannot name
a species without a way.
in or out of itself. a kingdom falling
undone. both building and retreating.

and it is sorrow-filled and it is lonely
and i am drawn into its melancholy

when the light dims just right

my selfish useless prayer. beads of sweat
to eat and drink and know of this thing.
the center of which. i may never

even touch.

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