INTERVENTION

		Clio lingers over ambrosia,
		licking her fingertips
		while contemplating
		the casualty of time.
		The sand convenes around her toes,
		her cognac hair makes an excursion
		over the elbow 
		and toward her thigh.

		Brahma, Vishnu and Siva nearby
		chant archaic incantations.
		A cluster of mockingbirds sing
		homily madrigals in falsetto,
		springs of blue truth:
		we are infinite.
		Anything can happen.
		Here.

		Sensitive Clio
		is wrapped in thought
		and a lamb stole,
		drunk on muse and bright memoirs
		of the Holy Three.
		She is half woman,
		half fable.

		Laughter and the echo
		of throats being cleared
		travels uphill from the opaque stream.
		An alchemist is studying the future
		through a zebra's vein.
		Divinity grounds itself
		where we sleep

		while our lives slowly become fossils,
		so impressionable.

		- Corrine DeWinter

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