breathing is blessing

Lufkinhales (he is [t]his breath), and fervor fills his face; between nowheresy and pre[s[ci]en]tense he treads a thin and sparsim space. “a kiss could be the cover of a quandary if careful, and the quarter of another be the boundary of balefulfillment’stationary standing. return is the rotation less discrete and more demanding.”

Torea turns a [. . .]

Heritage Hill

“he was here, and no mistake. his sign pervades this place.” i speak as measured as i’m able. it helps me if i pace.

“you would know it, if any would,” says Lufkin, calm as i remember. he always had that talent. it was December when i saw him last, in the Year of the [. . .]