taking in one breath too hard you fall forward, sputtering
embracing so thoroughly some cliché
a jest and trope so infinite as to be divine
breaking with every sweat an artifice built in cups of wine
and shaped by smoke held too long and pulled too deeply

in its breaking you catch yourself reflected and given time
enough to weigh and measure every organ
pressing filament and sinew as grave robbers might
intrepid and hushed in their exploration of the heart
seeking only to understand what they've come to betray

the same way every flake of gold spirals out from calamity
you feel certain that this terminating reflection has done nothing
but cease unbroken, welcoming good luck,
and that the autumn sun will eventually rise
on your grave unturned and a heart unbroken

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