Fulcrum by Jesse Miksic

The desire for my body

Is abundant in the food,

The flower’s unfolding

Stamped in the boot print —

The paper is hungry

To return to the root,

The ocean breathes in

At the touch of the oar

What very old question

Was placed upon this altar?

Whose love is suspended

Opposite this surrender?

Even the moonlight

Is a ripple

Off a prehistoric eye.

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