Many things are older than me, I know
many things more mature, mellow
yet someone tells me write
so I say thank you
with a part of the pencil I use for writing
myself, highlighting--I always forget
to use the part for erasing--
my eyes, my loudness
for all those babies even now in cages
the leaving parents the babies
who take care of babies
babies given away
grief on grief--I am unready, each one
already too much. With long arms
I sweep the water's flow
over and over
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