up above

let this be the promise, then,
if we can make them together,
reader and read, lover and loved—
if by what you’ll swear by
there is justice,
I’ll just make room,
compress my voice,
contain my form,
and you,
be my measure of the word

if not, then take my world
for it.
what is it so hidden
yet comprised within us,
lurking, yet in every iris
spiraled inward.
this taking and having of everything
has us wound ourselves up
too seriously and not enough
while skies, so wide, lay unscathed.

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