A friend’s hand
was making me nervous
moon underwater
who mourns things
at knock deep
in the otherwise
mute rotunda
of a frozen city?
an infant cannot be saved
by applause, just
as the fluttering mouth
of a door is not a periscope
into the lock
these vows go uninvited
a dark pit sitting
in the heart of a reservoir
and yet I still delight
in the implications born
of my friend’s hand
it must be saved
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