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Sat, Mar. 22nd, 2003, 03:20 pm
right before leaving the ski cabin, inscribed in the tome

In gaping holes
five thousand mouths wide
open to regard for silence
fathom us
further down
livening the drop
for strength and language
massive in their lack.

We know only how far
we haven't yet travelled,
staving off passions less
devisive than mournful
and running the gamut
of matches and blades.

So you, you have left,
and nigh on the horizon
I see silhouettes of my
self in you, dry in light,
drenched in the onslaught
of night.