Liquids distill mornings
and love refines intentions.
A few words here or there,
thrown carelessly over a shoulder,
errant grains of thought,
can nestle in the earth to produce leaves.
We are our generalizations, our condemnations:
the forgotten call, the unspoken state
sometimes retaliate.
And if I could tell you
what it really is,
the chance is you’d reject that truth,
an offering left for scattering
on a door step,
a bottle drifting to sea.
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