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There are moments I remember

that even the schools of crickets

are multitudinous,

and that waiting for the rain

makes the sun too bright.

I discover new shapes every day:

green ones, gold ones, secrets

under a pale and spirit sky.

Now my many gardens miss me,

the trumpet flowers and the trees,

but they move on.

They move on.

All speech is an act of doubt.

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I'm looking for the medicine, love. Haven't you seen it here? The fronds quiver and the sun whispers. But I'm looking for the medicine; my belly is empty. And haven't you seen it there? It has a name


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