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C.J. SAGE – Ⅳ


Little Sat in the Fields, Eating

 

 

 

 

 

Lost had dragged doors

past the wharf,

and Secret took them

 

all into its boat,

rowed out far

and offered the doors

 

to dawn in proposal.

Lost dangled ankles

from the pier, celebrating.

 

Tying the surf in knots,

Someone boarded ships,

saying many snakes

 

were stowed there.

Secret laughed a long

high-headed laugh.

 

*

 

Lost roomed in the cabin,

sweeping curtains,

collected nervous music

 

from the floorboards.

The very first fist,

said Secret, had swollen

 

with songs’ ripped pages.

Plucking walls, Lost

listened, quiet as cream,

 

lined fingers

with brine-soaked sticks.

Louder then, Tremble

 

married Still

upon that.  With the dizzy-

rent horizon, Lost remained.

 

*

 

Lost stretched from the couch,

shoving throw rugs.

To Lost, the room looked

 

blue and crème as the sea.

When the rug fringe poked

Lost’s toes, remarked Secret:

 

Make a concert of it.

By heart, Lost

leafed it all like sheet music.

 

Fumble partnered Ease

after that.  And from the long

ear, Lost returned.
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