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niterote · 25 days
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Whales
You don't have to believe
every skin you have shed.
You may swim, drink,
and make devotions to the shore
with the whales nearer.
Until leaning into the veil of breath
you share with everything,
especially the whales,
the experience of outliving,
of being abandoned by water
like a forgotten pillar of waves
making devotions to the shore.
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niterote · 27 days
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Mask
inside your wolf mask
a jaguar mask
inside my throat
the spine of inundation
inside the body
is a petrified forest
on the thighs of a god
who has never seen the sun
let me practice on your pain
a shape so familiar
it clots inside my throat
with the taste of iron
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niterote · 1 month
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Spine
Let them tattoo your spine with scars,
let the universe spit in your mouth,
be a feral canvas for the colors
of suffering and joy in the light.
These warm creatures,
panting and breathing fog,
live and die too fast
to see how these redwoods came to be,
the oldest gods lying down
so we may cross the pale river.
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niterote · 5 months
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the neck of the day
lets a crane roll in on the breeze
as the fog lands
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niterote · 5 months
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Fall is hidden and buried
when red leaves in the air are caught
in corner of my eye
Fall is open, exposed when
the leaves don't know how to fall around me anymore
rusting like an iris
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niterote · 6 months
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November gives the bird song
back to late dawn in selfish robes.
I attend the story of the rose, half lion.
The coven of your shoulder blades
casts a lost spell as
you write me the perfect poem
hidden in your dreams.
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niterote · 6 months
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Octobers
Your eyes are all October,
but I can’t see what you see.
My hope is a temple
that will not fall.
It will take you into yourself
and keep you.
This unremarkable darkness
gathered with great intention
is so easily lost.
Like missing cats,
a whole realm of missing cats,
and you could find them.
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niterote · 6 months
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I wish the sky was real,
the way I saw books I couldn't touch in your room,
like stars puncturing the walls of your skin.
To the children walking without solitude in the desert,
swimming away from the murdered star
even the sky is a statue of tears.
If nothing else, it's a clue about your cancer.
These plateaus descend in opposite directions
but their destination the same,
this failure is a strand of the sky too.
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niterote · 7 months
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Senescence
Would October change its mind
if carefully the roots descend
a golden wound of towers
seeking a dark loam to break into
knowing what rubied tempers hold
knowing what wet leaves forget
and if the way of soul is descent
would October change its mind?
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niterote · 7 months
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The Act of Letting Go of Remembering
Our ancestors taught us
to remember small things
and big things,
Our Lady of Guadalupe
and the service
of a ladybug.
Then they showed us
the whole act
of life is letting go.
If you could have
seen my grandmother
waiting to follow
the little man
through the stone arch
of the french chapel,
she would have shown us
how to let go
of a pancreas,
a country,
and the sins
of a husband
hunting jaguars
in the jungle.
The tip of her index finger
is missing,
like her last August.
She could still teach us,
to let go of each other.
But then grandmother why are we here?
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niterote · 8 months
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before the sunrise
the fog has a moment of intimacy
with desert sage
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niterote · 8 months
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the mountain wears smoke
around its neck
the forest fire is a ruby
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niterote · 8 months
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wildfires undress the forests
the unbearable lightness of smoke
weights all horizons
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niterote · 9 months
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the sun leaves everyday
August is a child of the moon
that plays with wildfires
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niterote · 9 months
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August and I hold hands
scared children of the moon
playing with sunlight
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niterote · 10 months
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June lets me go
I eat raspberries from your hand
gently crushed by the sun
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niterote · 10 months
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the morning doesn't know
how long can the sun hold its breath
the evening exhales
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