Sara Lupita Olivares

in their opacity, each hour eluded me. at the center

a dozen surfaces, the peonies without detail reflected.


if blue, the moss retreats out of focus. its tired head,

yet the pause showing the difference.


each sense is depicted orienting the viewer: the violets,

the monocle, the talking bird, the orange.


in either intent, what was seen was not plainly. each alike,

both nearly coming between.


the animals held back. aggression a coherence plying them

from the other.


to decipher singularity, few contingencies can be made.

holes are not omitted in the tree’s canopy and sky peers forth.


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