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Drafts, Poetry


As a child’s laughter, rolling
over rocks seeping
into earth, spraying
itself into the air into the heavens
and hells and through our lungs into our bodies
and back again.

At first silent: scrounging about in refuse;
constructing a language
from discarded bottles
and broken housewares.

You and I, we began to speak as if newness were our tongues’ function.



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