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little hymn
for Jenica Before the light goes cold, before the air grows slight, before the children wake from their fever dream - thank you. After the structures of battle, and strictures of my past… what hard loss had hollowed, your scarred hands filled up. Thank you. It was simple as surrender, and shocking as the single bolt of a red tulip swaying above the tenacious new grass outside my window, singing, announcing - a declaration… Thank you. Back
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