| We carry our devotion parting silence
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| Like a sea from the air into our lungs.
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| Aim to be outspoken, awaiting gusts of wind
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| Strong enough to shake the words from our tongues.
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| We are not known for easing tension,
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| We’d rather tilt our heads and swallow teeth.
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| Shelter me from dreams in which you die,
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| I’d rather witness my own death.
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| Eyelids open like I never needed rest.
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| I hope I choke from no practice speaking my own sentences.
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| Moving forward from my former self,
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| I haven’t missed me yet.
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| We are not known for our forgiveness,
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| only the acts that we forgive.
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| I would much prefer our fate
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| resting in the palms of open hands
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| rather than confined in a clenched fist.
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| We carry our devotion with our guilt like thorn
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| and stem resembling an orchid recently resurrected.
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| We have lived and died both in earth and by your bedside.
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| Preserved in soil, we confide in connection.
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| We are not known for our forgiveness…
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| letting go so we may live.
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| Shelter me from dreams in which you die,
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| I’d rather witness my own death.
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| We are not known for our forgiveness
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| but regardless, we forgive. |