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In the deeper silences,
we run our fingers through
the mettle of our sacrifices,
press against our skin
the shroud of moments
that can’t be weighed
for many years and
Here, we love awake.
With full faculties of reason
winding like a living river
around the sage-green valleys
of youth witnessed
a second time,
where one touches the clouds
only through rainfall.
Here, we cross over
into a landscape where
beauty interrogates,
where nothing is given
but a long forsaken innocence
can be exchanged for
something worthwhile.
And we encounter a voice
that lends substance
to thoughts that don’t
freely come in words,
only actions.
A witnessed sunrise.
Two halves of a torn peace
wrapped around a child’s
tiny skinned knees.
A row of assembly-line dreams,
once enough, once feverishly
envied in others,
now littering the wide open
stretch of dawn
like pearls
slipping off a string.

“Dana” by photographer Ivan Borys

lines 17-19, 24 came from Yusef Komunyakaa’s review of the book “Split” by Cathy Linh Che from the website kundiman.org.


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