We find imagination be the only defense

against these leaves,

fast cluttering my desk

with pages I do not recognize—

what beckons me to sleep

and dream the silverfish

that haunts my basement

or looks the sounds of a smile?

Each wink, sigh, a moment

left to be smelled & touched—

too short or long I

haven’t yet decided.

But what is our opponent,

and why not wonder these highways—

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