69.

69.

I reached up so there would be a you

to give you the moon trick of the invisible

rectangle only a rose in my hand

sophia held amid the open catches

a closed book an open seal

cross-wise currents unname us beneath

with the tender violence of trees

frisk through an empty forest

where number blossoms into perceptions

South-pointing chariots because sense is inside of things differential gears that touch 

and turn your way invisible key to an ever present city.