6.

through the doorway

6.

through the doorway we see the adoration of two hands

holding our mother’s face, each finger a leave-less

network—winter unclad—the hunkered

down cars graze the concrete so confident

of their lot, and we looking to the center of a being

see the separation of branches, highways of use,

and not the sky-turned drinking roots, the rooted-ness of our shadows.

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