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Tuesday, June 25, 2024

Nothing Is a Body

                                    For my birth father

I wish I had the dust of you, a grave
to visit. I’m running on your sea legs right now,

tired of the little bits—not even leftovers.
I’m a tourist in your life and I wonder:

Does your heart have its own body?

This sentence is not a body.

Nothing is a body
until there are arms around it.

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