i want to write my words on dried leather.
and completely forget about being hurried
and completely forget about being weighed down
i think that part of me stands on
the cusp of one thousand canyons -
echoing around like the sun light.
i have enough love for at least,
but probably exactly, one eon.
but then,
i have this other part of me
i think that, most likely, i have a
crude metal sword swung by my ancestors and
hollowed down the middle. cold metal and
jewelry and goats - and enough
loyalty to last all my life.
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