don’t go looking for the seam between our bodies

you will only find grown-over sutures don’t go

looking to the center of a being to find the lighthouse we

find home at our extremities, in our discomfort—and you assembled—from zygote

on—by tearing at yourself, splitting the mother you from the father you if you were to listen to what

I taught your mind to say—so many things need to be said simpler: to reach your image

we must first wrestle it from the sun, say love, say life let hold.


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