Magnets are the maps,
world smoothed over:
things that settle beyond the GPS.
An aeroplane arrives,
and it’s all over.
Mourning and noon agree blankly.
Night and the numbers:
10, 9, 7, 8.
Blood of the children,
black and level.
Vines map the body
in thick braids and ladders
of blood,
of blood
(children included).
A bridegroom opens the door.
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