a waft of cinnamon
in the mountain village —
her homemade tea
orphanage
someone draws family
on a cold car glass
a waft of cinnamon
in the mountain village —
her homemade tea
orphanage
someone draws family
on a cold car glass
entering the mouth
of the tunnel
radio silence
wasps
even if
I’m good
wallpaper layers
stripped back to the rosebud pink
of their first night
coming home
the veins grown dark
on old hands
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