Or, March 13th
have I told you yet that nothing
matches? the furniture in my small
room, but I mean that nothing
sings, things
have lost that bold uplift
that carries a voice.
we may not get the thing aligned,
entire, ever. it is possible
to fret and wander in skeptical circles
til your feet wear way down into
what's already done.
instead, bless
waking up thinking nothing
can come to good.
in that moment you kiss
foot to floor
set yourself down delicate
amid the unmatched,
wearing a pink
dress and red shoes.
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