In The Midst Of Your Catastrophe

While caught up in your catastrophe/you find, once more, your fingers /as they clip new results from the water’s surface/they are your dreams that rise from the Ouija/of forests that lie only within you/the lilt of your voice,/over the crowd’s roar;/now you’re much older than before/you used up those unseen sunrises/but how could you know it/you, more than anyone else,/ want the fresh catch of a later day/it allows you to blink past/ foam that radiates from your center

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