MOS: Kiviuq

Keys.
Keys, keys.
jangle in pocket.

Jnagle dangle loose.

Keys open doors
Keys brass.

The way home keys,
list in the oceans a ship in the snow
placed. Under sighs and collapses.

Portable brass, the black earth is covered.
Underfoot, a nethe.

When hands are pressed together, the feeling fails,
as if you yourself are not really
there not touching, a dream of existence.

I wander in the wonder,
imagine what snow meant in melt and drift.

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