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What’s in a breath that spirals stone
from the first miracle of the wet earth?

You lie between the night and I,
on the edge of a swaying moonlit door;

smoke of pregnant eyes finger
the hermit stripped-skin of light,

silenced;
motor flowers of the Third Reich,
mad voices of the rain.

Your honeycomb voice on the panting dice,
a lung blossoms on sleepgrain dust.

Memory in sea-sleep light,
a wound on the wet November skin.

-2-

Memorina,
you’re soft in my mouth
at the edge of mad-bred light;

Madly inhaling beneath the pilot sky,
naked I lay amidst spider voices in glassed walls,
under sperm-speech hands in baroque light;

Your fingers are switches that turn me on

The wind-walls spun,
and my aorta, like a moonleaf,
shrank without a voice.

Seconds after they touch me,
They leave me half-open like an unfinished book

I screamed for you Memorina,
as they led me through yellow stations
without a sign or name,

Your eyes are blades for the mermaid song

They spat at my face
and sliced with blades Carthagian ovaries.

-3-

Ladylight, you carry the germs of the night,
in your freezing handbag,

Halftone time,
and the cosmic breath-dream womb
on fading Auschwitz lips;

at dawn,
the room has no language.

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