1838
6.10
10.i.25
a quickening
a bird as loud as day
this window
as many eyes as I
as close to death as anyone
and all the same beyond
this reaching
our star far
I have that same tree in me
leaf and shade and light
bury myself under this all
bitten there
rain comes to touch
humble it is to be in the book
it’s human to be here
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