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I want to know where you go
on the days you find that
the sky is not
wide enough to hold
what you wish to set forth.

I want to hear what you say
when dreaming interferes
with living,
and the secondhand wings
from your last attempt
at denouncing the place
that hinders you
from flourishing
do not speak to the wind
as fluently as you hope.

When your spirit is ready
for freedom
but your body is a can
of paint with the lid on
and your will stumbles
on the words that are heavy
in their exalted loveliness,
do you try
to forget who you are?

I want to know which parts
of you are sleeping while
all the love you’ve loved
rustles the leaves
under the moon of
the promises you’ve promised,
whether you did it
on purpose,
leaving the light on,
and if the sign
you’re waiting for
knocks on your door,
would you recognize
its voice
.


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Image of ballerina Ali Lubin
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by photographer Omar Z. Robles

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