When the old origami
melted,
the crash of pieces
formed us
hymnal-print white
down where the tilted day
first moved in the clefts
glistening over scattered moss
and aboriginal hoofs
that had escaped the ghost
but not the blood.
Dividing the fur
like a mountain silhouette
gradually erased by a darkening red atmosphere,
ripe green swords
bore our faces
under the fetal chandelier
of giant stars.
this is pretty damn magnificent.