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Gratefulness
Two loons on a lake in the evening fog, air thick with it, pale water barely moving.
I’m like a days-old fawn setting out for the grasses— I’m nimble again, I smell like the hollows.
Once, I wanted only sounds and scents of another human— I founded islands with my body and we lived there, expectant.
Now, I want to take the whole world in, to bear it back to brightness. I feel this suddenly, like fire in high summer or lightning.
Posted by kind permission of Holly Wren Spaulding.
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