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  • Writer's pictureMichaela


Gathering the pieces, sorting them out color by color

Finding all the edges and now I think I'm at the sky

Filled with silver-lined cumulus clouds drifting and The blue of my true love's eyes and I'm soaring

At a loss

I don't know how to navigate here, with the stars

In my eyes and the sun in my heart and the wind

Under my sailing self

Where are the edges? What are the rules?

I need to know so I can stay,

So I can keep from erring

And as my panic rises I grasp for straws, flailing,

Plummeting under the weight of waiting

For the storm to hit. And then it doesn't.

He keeps loving me, gentling me, keeps looking at me like

I'm the moon

And my fall's arrested while I try to figure

Where the next piece fits.

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