I make of the small myths
a pill
caught in my throat
God frisks me labor
lunges for the pond where houses in water
host faces, a bottom
(up) my chanceto pretend fingers
attach at both ends to a handinstead of salvaged
touch like (lost
in air)
the pond
washes eventhe fingernails of sun
![](https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/27bfa43f5581e91ebb7d52455237e2f161857b8222df4da9acbcabb9365b4678/Annulet-Squiggle.gif)