Still it weighs on me—this life—but thank you, what now makes me attend to it.
This labor began in love- / scars carved into earth flesh and / stone, its carcass laid down
The ship’s cabin would have been entirely dark but for the single brass-rimmed porthole above the upper bunk.
The first time they took something out of her was seventeen years ago, when she was twenty-six.
My sixteenth winter achieved a plate of roses, / more precisely a rose plate, / composed of pressed petals
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