“Where does it all lead? What will become of us? These were our young questions, and young answers were revealed. It leads to each other. We become ourselves.”
– Patti Smith

The sun dug her way
out of the sidewalk
brushed off her shoulders

I stopped a fall mid-jump
hands in pockets
head on  pillow
dawn of a smile full of gravel
dawn of feet in the fishbowl
head in the cosmos
dawn of layers and layers
of words (un)wasted
dawn of truth in decoration
truth in greasy fingers
truth in the itch
the gag
name on my voice’s wrists
dawn of crying in room
of bookshelf people
{people aren’t as ricepaper as they seem
aren’t as close to dissolving as I tell myself}

The sun put her hands behind her head
leaves in her hair
back on the sidewalk
I’m trying to trust that she will return

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