sometimes she slips,
falls into a gathered nest of hollowed pot
and tangled flame;
descends through days boneless and raw,
unsalted.
the burn trembles slowly,
from the outside
in
and the emptiness bubbles
while all else boils away-
but she has a covenant
with weary, bartered between halves
of her quiet strength.
she'll surrender if they do first.





9 old applause
