distance is measured in waves, waves that cling
to earth like lava. lava
too, will smoulder
a touch
out of shame: timber, driftwood,

she has coaxed out a seam

from the sky – threads it among the sandy breathlessness
of streetlights, paying
out a dive of song to those old
crows, the birds blaze
across the waves, and crackle to silence

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