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    the errant

    Already gone always. Already gone
    into that twilight that opens
    love. Only love opens

    that twilight.

    That twilight. That only. In silence.
    For silence that only will
    open. This

    mouth without why.

                        *

    Yet receiving without yet. Receiving leaves only.
    Ungathering shadows. Ungathering nothing
    with nothing. Conceiving.

                        *

    For nothing already loved always.
    That nothing already loved always.
    Becoming for nothing that nothing.

    Becoming already. Loved always.

                        *

    As grace abides only. As only
    that silence. That silence abides now
    without why. Where

    twilight is never. Is never begun.



    encounter

    Beloved your touch is one. Only as twilight is
    namelessly. Only is hidden. Within is yet
    gaping yet gaping
                                       yet burning. Within
    as one knot of breath undone is
    suddenly. Swallowed

    so softly by rain.



    tryst

    Within us you only you whisper.
    This wet flesh of rainlight
    descending

    through duskfall. Your touch comes
    as suddenly. Lavishly as if

    this moment still
    only ungathers.

    Enflames now as rainlight. As smokelace. Your thorns
    fill our throat and we

    swallow. This moment which
    opens. Still

    opens more naked than ever.

    Already effaced now. Already this shimmer of
    smokelace. Already this

    whisper which evermore
    traces the breath of

    our excess. Already

    our excess.

     

    Andrew Maxwell is from Bucks County, Pennsylvania. His poems have previously appeared in antiphony, Image, Colorado Review, Lana Turner, Conjunctions (online), and elsewhere.

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