this rock i’m holding is no ordinary stone

it’s constantly turning whenever I’m alone

the water starts to trickle

look at the fountain

rust spots from pennies and nickels

three feathers growing swan dive arms out of my shoulders

these puddles of footsteps on the ground

are they yours?

what remains cloaked by the veil of the bridal brook?

there’s an extraordinary staircase spiraling up to a throne and all of the angels are flying


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