Tender is the One

We are doing the pointing and looking
after it, protecting its back as we go
over the trace that is light, ferrying it
against the sound of following

It is light like after, like fumes or dull
like orange pulp and white

We get it in us as it goes, obliquely,
the corners of our eyes and lips, the hairline

Tender is the one to see it softly thru,
putting a coat over it, flashing
We can’t drive into it thru the trees
or up the trees by way of some system,
and (out of) asking, look like it is

on us and in our mailboxes,
face softly falling, tinted, blown back
into our hands, hair

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