of my thoughts
I can gradually pick out
my current face among
the crowds of snapshots
of all the men and women
I have ever been
but now we’re all arranged
like murmuring bees around
their golden hexagons
we can still feel the body
of the queen way above
and yet way below us
like a central sense of self
to which we return after
long stretches of dancing
carrying up and out
last summer’s sweetness
as far as it will go
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