this night’s journey
is over. this straw shines
like the body you left behind.
these words don’t mean
anything to you. I write them
over and over and you can only
trace them with the wide plain
of your fingertips.
sometimes you say that
you can feel mountains,
or lakes, or those sudden
sweeps of breath that make you
stop on a word.
keep your fingers there.
your head rests on the limb
of a tree. the rings hum
in your presence.
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