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Jonathan Dunk




salt line from line

    disperse our constituate grammars


shrapnel shorelines with commas

    give dyads to the birds


pluck you from you

    littlecormorant, blackswan, whitefacedheron,


death can feed

    so many solitudes


lose me to me

   to the words falling their ash


on the paperbark,

   the scrimshaw scribblegums


take me from me,

   gnaw the radius what’s left


little sigils of carbon

   christbones for some empty hands:


impossibly absent the word

the blossom-nomads descend

   their gumleaves

& swanshot stars buoy the forks of

 lacteal trees


wilt into rose dawn -

    i’ve never yet deserved daybreak

while the wind gulls waves

& dovehail drums the rissom

tear the curtain,

burst the silo

there’ll be enough death


for lean ones & fat

   seven by seven

gather almonds

   every count one less

   kiss the air, scatter this bread &

                                                break it

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