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Chaya Cohen Mar 2016
Between Sixth and seventh heaven
slips you a fastened bow
(below
what of brash smoke)
upon a watery furnace.

Your Rechecked tongs Retrace
(to where) Familiar rubs the signal,
a squeal of molten stitch.

Breathe upside-down your sway between
the seventh To The Sixth.

— The End —