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Overwhelmed by the three tides of sadness
one for not having a woman in your bones
one for not enough liquid no matter what liquid
one for the sucking breath that does not create food

Laughter high and often
on the tiles of shattered continents
will be coming to invite you
out from the property of your name,
shortly,
when you are expertly unready
whether in a vault where needles go to die
or a wall of inhabited wood

Arriving wept
in all the usual ways