Third Eye Witnesses

She harvests roses,



The world watches her sleep.

Birds peer through her window

like so many anxious dignitaries in a

court of intrigue.


She wears the scent of sun

in a vial around her neck.

He will hunt her better nature.

color his prayers with her name.


This is yearning –

to be jealous of the air

because it can touch her everywhere at once.


In his suit of wool and guilt

he watches her pick bouquets of breeze,

spinning in a plain of demolished satisfaction.


At night, he whittles mathematics down

to an immaculate paste of 2

and rubs it over his body

Tomorrow he will wait by the light

and draw her in with his want song.

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