I now know
the pulsing fruit
in my chest
glides deeper
deeper still into
distance
on the arc of
a phantom
limb's unfolding
something just
moved in those
branches; feels
like my tongue
escaping yes
escaping--
a line rippling
in the leaves.
what is this
serpent
but a trial
of light, never
forming any
word but I?
Gerald Schwartz/
West Irondequoit/New York/ USA
11:35 AM
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