Blue Coffin

I see blossom where
you see error. Tell me,
what damage is worth
a flower? The blue-mouthed

iris speaks a broken
language, lives a random
life, a squatter's religion.
Here is where the root

meets rock, its secret
self; again, muscular
precision moves
the walls of earth.

Go further, down
an unknown distance-
in the evening, burial
on the sun-less hill.

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