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Zoe Averill Ren Oct 2018
Focus falters
when you step, cacophony,
craters reflected in white waters
revealing stars, sky wanderers.
Seventy-two
degrees, oculus lost to sea,
crowned tops and fires anew,
agressions popping like corkscrews.
Pressed together,
tightly, hands against me,
salvation depends on whether
we can balance this feather.
Heavy heart's fortitude
determined to be free,
abstruse admiration ballyhooed,
green-eyed threats I elude.

— The End —