*

You have this kinship, the limp

balances you and the Earth

already blossoming

 

with nothing under it

though you lift one foot

closer to the other

 

hillside after hillside

the way mud settles and clots

--you’re used to losing, come

 

so this cane can grab your hand

almost in time and what’s left

above the ground, knows

 

you’re drowning, in rain

stops and starts, in dirt

and tells you everything.

 

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