It felt familiar, your mouth moving
up my side like a gale warning. My
arm calico—mammatus clouds—
blood brought to the surface.
Now I understand my childhood
home. Releasing shingle after shingle
into the brutal air. Our front door
torn and flat in the yard. Violent
gusts whipping through the marshes—
the back of your hand.
Of what I have unlearned
this was the hardest.
One sandpiper singing
still, desire does not
have to leave you
ruined. | 
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