Immaculate earth, the orchid stole your camera.
I found it in the field folded into the empirical book.
I pressed it to my breasts when nobody was looking.
I threw the film away.
I put the book on my bookshelf.
I put the camera in the honeysuckle.
My perceptions were clouded by memories.
I found an iron hinge.
I unlocked both doors with my elbows.
I followed closely and then I understood.
We were married in salt and bright cells: tissue.
The cognizance of sun remembered the day.
I awoke in the kitchen (countered) drinking abstract (image) of a good thing.
Light which is not is.