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by Rose Maria Woodson

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I understand

finally this

salty weakness that makes us

stop,  turn,  freeze as

the heart’s magnet

pulls all back

from the happily ever after

we become our own

weathered totem

in the gravel path

angels concave

in the cave of our  tears

 

 

a bright disorder

we are kenning

your soul walks in

my shoes

your shadow is light

upon me

weightless in

a vacuum of self

there is no gavel of fear

in this

lightness      everything

I know about you

leads me