her ocean her church
her nights an aged train
rolls cross twelve states
of desert and sage
her gloom and her worry
through her thin body
burrow and lurch
as fear and salt tears
and how she’s
demeaned
soak her skin slowly
leaving it clean
where each cell
in its lone nest
yearns to recall
the clear feel
of hope
in light
tunnelled
between
where it’s
soft
silent
and safe
to begin.
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