by Freeman Ng

wavers on the edges
of your face. I come
to a secret pleasure. Lone
against clear sky, I
am not through
needing to feel for you.
Static summer and the land, bright
consecutive days
and the slow dark
of shadow. What came
in light is left, you see:
the still throb of heat
in standing waves above
the hum of ground, below
the threshold of our hearing
or our vision or the constellated
surface of the earth.

Copyright 1995
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Path of Least Resistance
Cover of Episode 2
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