Each night, she says, each night I peel away
the bandage that held everything seen
& turn it into something radiant & bold
like an orange. Then I turn away,
then I turn into something cold & gradient
like silt from a river bank or anything
wearing away. You know this, she says,
yet you care like an atlas, big.

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Craving the cliff, the ladder back, if I knew colors I could tell you more.