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Brazos de Rocas

No flat-footed gait here

For misshapen stones have congregated

Or been placed, and feathered

And weathered away into tables and craters and continents

Step, step, steps remind me

I only see what’s before my feet

thank god for that

These misshapen stones

That furious windstorms have thrown here

That the ocean lays bare its bones here

thank god for that

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