a long white line

Beautiful. only
what you find
in dusk colors,
just above the sea

and
maybe a seagull
with notches in his wings
gliding

in your breeze.

Or looking into
dried brush strokes
and knowing the painter
somewhere,
in the diamond structures
between edges
of your sternum;

it is running
a long white line
at twilight,
matching your toes
with broad paces
of darker colors
around,

Beautiful. Finding
a ghost of somewhere
in orange lights.
Houses at dinnertime.

Knowing you are just
as warm
inside
as they are.

Halloween lights
stepping out
with afterlight and into
another’s home,
grateful
enthused
candies and

Phragmites, Rugosa Rose,
Vitae labrusca
shuffle into shadows-
like mine,

running faster than me
and
disappearing,
completely

to where rabbits
hop away.

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