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Dear silk-screened birds,
You will always be turquoise in mind-flight,
and I thought of screaming loudly
to make a bigger dusk.
I tried to hold the weight of movement.
My arm out,
I hoped someone would walk over it.
I hear you say something
about hiding from the sky,
what happens to patterns
when we close our eyes.
I said it's orange in there
and a little bit blue.
I played with the refrigerator magnets all afternoon,
reorganizing attraction
according to your syntax.
And you said
I'm about to touch a tree.
I stacked the red heart above the plastic starfish
and thought about being almost
but not
and never really.
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