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1: screens
liz waldner
a 2 lies open and lies
a lean-to between window frame and sill.
its death protects a collection of tinier deaths
and other dirts beneath.
although the white paint is water-stained,
on it death is dirt, and hapless.
the just-severed tiger lily
is drinking its glass of water, i hope.
this hope is 5.
this hope is severe.
what you ruin ruins you, too
and so you hope for favor.
i mean i do.
the underside of a ladybug
wanders the window. i wander
the continent, my under-carriage not as evident,
so go more 7, it seems to me.
but i am only me; to you it seems clear
i mean to disappear, and am mean
and project on you my fear.
if i were a 6, i hope i wouldn't be
this giant winged thing, spindly like a crane fly,
skinny-legged like me, kissing the cold ceiling,
fumbling for the face of the other, seeking.
it came in with me last night when i turned on the light.
i lay awake, afraid it would touch my face.
it wants out. i want out, too.
i thought you a way through.
arms wide for wings,
your suffering mine, twinned.
screen. your unbelief drives me in,
doubt for dirt, white sheet for sill --
you don't stay other enough or still
enough to be likened to.
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