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33 The Chrestomathies of Omecíhuatl, Giver of Life Appendix to the Gospel of Ometéotl, the Brown Adam When lovers gaze through water & know the shape of duration, why does my imperfection press between my shoulder blades as a stare? The penetrating eye casts the hour’s shadow. Form & identity shatter desire to presence: dunes with winds shaping broken figures out of sand. Spring buds chill in early April frost. When I press my finger into the world beneath the grass, why am I Other in Winter’s ash? Beneath the clavicle’s narrow, we loam & rake tumors to language self of shadow. In love, we live laced in Other voice, hem & seam. 34 You told me to pour water until the aster overflows. Soil spilled onto the floor. I cannot keep. I can’t will this lovely grid, the compass hollow where my belly splinters. Meager, incarcerate dawns will us as hand to hammer our gesture: a forge whose tongs translate scarlet joys out of blood, out of poppy. Of each other, we speak bodies whole. ...

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