Canyon of Stars

Stone wet and bleeding
she shouldered the others aside,

spilling archers everywhere
like an apron full of onions.

Hearing the night birds in the tank of dreams,
I sounded her out.

Pleasantries? Something darker?
A witness, she said.

A winey ache. An arched back.
Pulled hair like bunch grass.

No words.
Only language.

A red goodbye.

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