Only if I move my arm a certain way,
it comes back.
Or the way the light bends in the trees
this time of year,
so a scrap of sorrow, like a bird, lights on the heart...
...But they guard me, these small pains,
from growing sure
of myself and perhaps forgetting.
--from "To Hear the Falling World", 48
— 1 hour, 51 min ago
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