grip stained margins embank the door's edge
where fingers like waves grasp, lap
and mark the tide of goings and comings
where the latch like a gull
sweeps the lock with a lonely cry
and light-filled the bloom diffuse of breath on glass
as phantom hearts etched in melted sand
unable to sustain invisibility, arise
glimmering in exhalation
beneath my parted lips…
lucy meskill
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