No mute on the trumpet

Kate Schapira

The bright suns I can see and the dark suns I cannot see are in their place.

Walt Whitman

The book blazes, color in the cheeks is

high and showing, the others are also

there, they are fine, reappointed,

clean, recognizable, the boots unlaced a matter

for conjecture, heavy unethical

matter, handed manner, the dreams are entirely

unfounded and blaze, the hand a little

clumsier through its mass

of removal, not planetary, the color

visible to the naked eye.