i would rise to you    crows and black vultures
and lie on the shores of your air, if i could

i want tides to wade through me until i am the frail and unfinished poet
i want to write down the flaws of the sycamore

who is it i hear crying in the silence of strange bodies
who is it i hear weeping in the places you have been

there is a shadow across the vision i was close to once
when the horizon between worlds had been crossed

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