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Relative Thought

Your baby spluttered with laughter
in the grave rows
of her great-grandmother's funeral.
I say it is a great omen.
She bubbles with vowels
as she enters her soul.
Let it be strong.
The two trains
have passed in gusts
for all time, yes,
after the deepest gaze
into the child, just days ago.
Looking out the window,
we wonder if we move
or the landscape does.
An older woman stands out there,
thigh-deep in snow
and watches it pass,
carry into watercolor blue sky
a young girl
brushing her hair
who sees only a reflection
when she tries to look out.

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