by Laura Behr
I like to hold prayers
until sorrow loves me
like a home country
that desires to lure me
home again, but doesn’t act.
Keeping track, and watchful,
so I can’t know why troubles
happen. Looping against a version
of turning your eyes away from this,
and envisioning a new world
expectant as we are of false spring.
I’d like to tell you the future will happen
between us. Falling down, learning to begin
again and making stories full of silence
sing where anything that says it’s possible
takes shape out of breath and darkness.
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