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The orchid inside succeeds at prodding
and prying me open, as I try to capture
a picture of milkweeds. I pray for rain
and rule in Babylon, the next great Sargon
building gardens for Ishtar and the organiscism
of the cosmos. Like the navy blue waving
circular sky that frames arching flocks;
a silver halo that outlines each tree, swaying
with orgasm to the fruit of light. God breathes
humidity and exhales breeze, onto water-reeds.
And when God holds his breath, it is stillness.
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