it's just feeling, a wing
safe-kept records &
the history of our bodies
unconscious, falling away;
immunity from you.
the manila structures
of uncareful, folded anger
i smooth them flat
for weathering sketches
while memory erodes.
fingertips follow backward
cross-hatchings, cursive
tracing before i found
all your secrets -
(misplaced mine).
not a want for words,
but the pattern of your voice,
i am hoping for you now -
to walk by, smiling:
this is your way home.
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