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Aby Kaupang

my Thou is the bloom of my mouth|my rib is afloat in fen


I blooming ever more gravely

blooms before you


so the furrow of origin

turns under    plumes


a bride  when the bluffs are plucked 

is pulled from the rib of man’s side




I am that bird

I’m drawn from your rib

your side is a flung wide ridge




where is origin?  where heat

or blade or ruse of exaggeration?




my Thou is the dithering of ridges flung open

my Thou is a stasis of incomprehensible approach

my Thou is for whom the talus ascends




dusking sheets loom over a pastel cliff

cactus    columbine   scree   in a flourish

one could almost loose a life


my Thou is a tender uproot




when the buttes are lifting up

and the field of origins slips under


come Thou




come Bride


or {come} bird waters

or just flay it out




my rib is afloat in fen




my Thou you’re the bloom of my mouth



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