there is sleep
the kind that burns
eventually forgets
then dreams come
about loss or new bodies
castles ruins churches
plateaus on the verge
of dry endless moutains
details that cut into the eye
brightness you can't look away from
details in detail in rivers of memories
recollections that aren't yours from others
stashes and jails and barns and valleys cold water
turning and going and returning and waiting and not knowing
xx
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