Year's End
© Beth Roberts	Avoiding relation I go for the throat. In the sifting traffic hourglass heart things appear thinned, limbs in the dance separate in the new circumstance. Where the edge of a hand slips to the field in a synapse so fine, yet all the world wants a long attenuating history in its stead. Snowflakes pivot through the gap. In my head I repeat till it beats, I love all my loves, I love all my love,