XXXVI.

BENJAMIN WINKLER

 
 

in the birthstain    sheets we lay    uncovering
ourn mother’s     nakedness     mouths sore
with sleep     lifted a     psalm we
 
believed    outgrown       felt hands
in mine    hair     on the back
of mine neck    forced      head to
 
a pillow     still sweat    a halo left
where it     had been    breathed in
heard    voices      over mine

 

 
 

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