our sister satellite

our sister satellite
our second star
our samest sibling
our Sybil shuffled

from room to room
from root to roam
from loot to loam
from lost to loom

this is the way
we lose track
of tracking
our losses
of trekking
to Tibet
of tallying
our crosses

lost in the snuffle
least in the cry
stare-borne quicksand
all in an eye

an I on the table
gets raised to two
we’ve folded our heads back
we’ve wiped off the glue

my twin liked gin
but I like rye
my twin landed thin
I’m ladling the lye

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