I almost died
in the blustering Unknown
of Infancy.

My dented thumb nail
known as Quasimodo
dragged down from a trance.

Gargoyles gurgle up raw sleep
knotty toads of dreams.
to slip on
get under my
skirt of knitted fibrillation till
My white tiptoes leave the place.

Now your shadows scratch.
Your hands have many shelters

(Image:Nicoletta Ceccoli)
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