Shelter
—we sleep. Among
silent mountains, locked
between sides. We crave
only to remain. On
random days we could reflect
angry sunlight away, and
be still. Like words in thoughts,
We could find that we lie,
heaving bodies into mute
ground. For here your head
lies on my chest. Your gaze
will harvest many swallows.
When they fly low, as if
to touch my belly, and they
predict summer in a way I
could never promise.
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