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- the living are the flesh and blood
- ghosts of the dead
- shouting nervously and
- scaring the silent buried.
- we'll talk about it when there's time
- and gray enough to cover
- years of skin
- stretched too thin
- over the unspoken.
- dead moss remembers the sun
- and the piss of baby deer,
- and layers of dead butterflies,
- and the tall trees turned to soot
- as it passes back
- into soil.
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