A FOURTEEN YEAR OLD

i am suddenly

thinking of Minnesota

the parched coldness

of my grandmother’s 

cigarettes nesting, 

slowly

everything would 

wind

standing beside the World’s Largest

Pelican

in photographs

yellowed and yearly

chipping at the prior

year 

the slow

rope 

of serene

on the unkindled

island

being alone

furnishings and unsurprises

the wild

wetness of embalmed

air the winding of gaunt

conversations the splash 

the dive

the indispensable

happiness

slowly the boat

would come across

across the dismantled

lake struggling with

the shoreline’s opinion

with a smell 

of sleep that 

keeps one awake

THY WILL BE DONE

SCENE: WALKING ON WATER 

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