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I Must Be the Cactus

I must be the cactus who loses whole lobes,

stretches green again from just one drop of water.


I think of words

to describe pain.


None are tall enough, dark enough.

Wait, maybe: CAVE.


I am gathering my thoughts,

my belongings.


Neighborhood animals

arrive thin at my door.


In the morning,

inkwells below my eyes.


See how I stand inside a box

called house?


I am still, not planted.

I face a winter sun.


Posted 04/05/19
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