La Feill Moire
I already gave you a plan. Heliocentric smoke signals. Sunwise. Sojourner, I told you you must shut the one swallow within your mouth. Shut within vesper, the whole of the afternoon. You knew without doubt the incomplete animal I’d become. Small vice, my delusion. You multiplied the consequence of the dead. You whispered it. You blessed fields. Among patterns in my voice you rose. I followed your irregular direction, the necessary fragment, later knives and trees. You appeared to pass among those I loved. Quickly you offered blight. Bright hawks as a swift shimmering geometric. Spotted leaves you encouraged among maples. What supplication must failure bring me. Your location’s trail permits a cold grace. My feck of immunity, your air.