When the wind blows
& your fences fall & birds nest in your petunias & your daughter walks into your words
& you lose her there
when lightning burns a path in a random paragraph & your body refuses to walk that path
or take you much of anywhere
when your lips ache from saying nothing
when bombs fall on the home your grandparents once fled & for a moment you’re relieved
they’re already safely dead
when the sun can’t bear to rise
when it gets to you, how your legs won’t carry you out to deadhead old blooms & rebuild fences
& fix the moon in its orbit
when all you can do is sit
when your daughter comes to sit with you
here is a morning to hold in your hands.
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