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I run my fingers, favor granite the stones' stone though it's now too heavy, its blood almost looks like mine and you still wandering among the stones the banging doors left out to die --inside your headstone the dark as in every womb its unyielding cry and mountains lifted closer --my fingers pointing, one more cave and sacred winds kept till death was needed --you don't hear the sunlight breaking the world in half for stones, the mornings without you. You are that trembling, tangled --my breath too among the unfinished cries and the imagined light.
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