Tonight the moon is multiplying
Newness, caressing
Carcasses lit into alien readymades, an oar
Limbs itself ashore, where our
Eyes dutifully labor over the novel
Creatures cantering
Through the dunes, the moon
Snaps like a luminous flag
On the waves, there is a ghost lady
Looming here perforated
By the strings of her
Harp refusing to impersonate breath
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