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…. We steal celestial moments, thread our words through belt loops touched only by gods light years away. We call names. Fall apart. Whistle and wait for the echo of our own syllables. The stars are pin-prick cat prints on … Continue reading
… Our shins walk toward the water – twin divining rods, shod in skin and shadow. The sky’s a rippled trance of whisper-thin blue, push -pinned up only by wisp of cloud. Who were we before this place? This indigo … Continue reading