Things I feel:
chilled fingertips
mountains against skin
not feeling hurt
not feeling you.
I feel into earth,
pull out spirits
of tubers and your
hardened aura, I
missed the turn
of the screw, you
turning red tide–
dangerous and permanent.
Washed against night
sky, your wall
won’t be coming down
soon, will it? I’ll
be the sun rising,
falling every day
waiting for touch…
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