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                      after a night
                                   of no electricity where
                                   the carpets seemed like floorboards
                                              and we snuggled together in bed

                                              sunny morning

                      high high in the sky
            a wide band of cirrus cloud
                      allows the whole world
                                   to move its rooftops beneath it

                                              more direct
                      a jet trail cuts into it – no
                                              above it –
            drifting at fifty miles an hour
                                   I look back into my book
                      then glance back out at the poem

                      the cloud
            has magnified as it settles behind
                                   the rooftops chimneys treetops
                      the jet trail nowhere to be seen
                                              I’m sure I’d noticed it





chimney wormhole: wide-open / concentration
clouds wormhole: the end
morning wormhole: ‘my Dot …’
passing wormhole: strangers
reading wormhole: the spectre
rooftops wormhole: chrysalissing
sky wormhole: “I / am Spartacus”
sun wormhole: backseat
trees wormhole: mlewis diptych
windows wormhole: open / window