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I broke both your fathers hands
and washed your wounds and garments
stole off with a herd of mares
and burnt his crop and harvest
and when you came to you were smiling
and said you dreamt of honey
suckle rows and brimming shoals
of salt air and bent book bindings

you are temporal and still
as the fossett sputters and fills
the kitchen sink
in a house you can't recall

scrape the blood off of your knee
the sky was empty we spoke sternly
constellations never leave me again
you were just a baby
and our backs bridged over and the roof caved in
and we stood there arms extended
and neither spoke we just gawked and moaned
for the night sky offered only blackness

you are the lucid host of an uninhabited land
skin the color of moths upon moon kissed glass
and your name was the song of cicadas

and i called you in the evenings in first breaths of spring
every 13 years for a season
and the waters still running and a woman sings soft
theres a warmth and a whirring as she wraps you in cloth
then you notice shes crying but shes laughing it off
shes says sweetheart im sorry
she is here then shes gone

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Ava Marie Poultney, Vermont

5 piece Indie from central//western Vermont. Collections of songs constructed from the memorable remnants of reoccurring dreams, and early childhood.

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