Time relents
and bares, ever
so slightly, its elusive depths. (Doors
safeguarding other doors; opening one into another;
       tracks,
vestiges of ocean) An autumn
of logs and leaf piles. At its core:
The translucent thicket of pleasure; it’s intimate ivies:
Gold:
foliate light: Fire rooted to budding metal,
and a delicate moss,
incandescent.

– Coral Bracho. In Time’s Core

translated by Forrest Gander

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