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Insouciant margins prefer
half inch glaciers ready for
erasure and the continuance
that offers nothing but time.

Beneath these vines we drink
more than our share of wine
and somehow the bottle expands
to fill each cup past meniscus.

Diction could you make things
more clear? Things are dear
but they are unclear. Hold me
good friction. Offer me hail.

Balls of ice gather in my cup
and become my kind of wine.
I will dine on these stones.
There will be soup enough.