dance around yourself
free of contentment.
you've made me blessed with weakness,
tongue-tied to erasure.
this cathedral, ghost flames,
grows no roots,
only branches to branches to branches,
multiplied to oblivion.
there is a baseline, a background tune,
swallowed by handmade cries-
but we're getting there,
that moment
not when everything falls into place,
but when the sound becomes too clear
to care for the echoes.
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