Divine Contagion
The back stoop loves summer for her alternating currents
of gardenia and mint
The gate loves the evening
and its winds
The children love the gate’s creak— winter’s grumpiness caught in the hinge
The brook loves the salamander
for its wriggling—in and out
The salamander loves the boy who spoke in kindhearted gibberish before letting him go
The evening star loves the dark
for bringing out her light Every citizen of heaven loves all that gleams black—beak of raven
mongoose tail burrow of mole
The nearly invisible clothes moth loves her unequivocal mission— to loosen the weave
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