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Spur of slipped
serif
a jolt of brittle
outside, in a rasp,
akenning of a not-
given-shape, a noise
like grass and trees
unmouthed, long water
ripening,
wind-flutes of bamboo,
some kind of this-ness
lost, a seed of many
silences begets
its pitch
and shift, coughs a glottal
choke of stress
the affricates align
the soft of lauds begins
to pattern in my mind
and I become of scales
which lip
my skin to pearl
and now I know
that I was there—
zoeticin the plangent
dark, a breathing
through a hyoid bone
an unhatched word,
a stuttering in
the throat of mud,
just as fish dried into legs
and Earth was tamed
by naming
Recovered Memory (Cordite, 44, Gondwanaland, 2013)
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