Loosened from the sand By Simon Perchik
Loosened from the sand then wing over wing till the sky faces you lets you choose one shell rather than another among the broken open once seabirds.
She's used to it grins to please you keep the game going cries when you cry just by moving closer saved between the umbrella and morning.
You have so many cries so much, making room —you empty the sun for its ashes that circle her as air and the part that doesn't cool you use for breath
for wingspan and unending rock crushed the way all sadness weighs nothing now —she says she thinks she found a feather.
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