the thief spring’s direction is forward— but how does it go forth? i cannot picture any whim involved— rather, it lurches forward, leaning in, invading space, interrupting familiarity, crowding perception, truly bombarding anyone who makes the easy mistake of recognizing her and where does spring hide all the hours it kidnaps? it’s time we start calling her for what she is: a thief. winnowing all those lost hearts. discarding some but never replacing them.
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