My den, where I am digesting Jacob

for the ensuing consecutive decades

of the authorial Job.

The doted upon

kept its shoes on, waited long

and washed off its perfume

before calling.

It came late,

mixed with water, a watery plenitude

mildly electrified from its transport car,

early to leave,

grabbed its hooded coat, back to the vapor:

chilled, vast and a great many colors

air and liquidity, more adaptable


A telephone line, obsolete

wraps around my arm

like a jew’s prayer strap.


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