Roots Are Certain/Sky Is Empty

I keep forgetting the things that I have felt so easily

With the wind it all brushes off of me

into the holes in my teeth

So I'll spend the rest of my life in structures and

colors

The shape of what your face used to mean

In a box

Laden with the ones still here

Cutting palms on open trees

You're on the edge of something.

The roots are certain//the sky is empty.

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