Boxwood Brother,
why won’t you
lower your eyes
for the sake
of your fists?
you breaking
breathe fixing
flashing you
cast your hands
in molten
silver, chill
in calm cold
calamity.
underneath
a plastic sextant,
on your parade
of water
creatures
and things
that float
you trouble
yes I implore
you hiding
sideways along
the secret
compartments
in your coffin,
whispering you
a lullaby
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