This is the world’s reenactment of today,
and of this moment,

                            and of continuing on—with its satellite imaging of scattering birds
obscuring our faces—
         and this is the world’s reenactment of its percentages:  of the constant shifting of the satellites
and the constant scattering of the birds and the likelihood

that we will be seen;
and this is the reenactment of someone choosing your face

to remember—and of your growing flushed or turning, slightly, toward a window
with a red shade;

and of the birds’ shapes appearing through its fabric—which is the reenactment

of our traverse
of St. Petersburg
         with the flags of thin material gaining symbols in the wind.


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