Parading

This morning this planet is so loud with itself—

its winds, its insects, its grackles and mourning doves—
its winds, its insects, its grackles and mourning doves—
its winds, its insects, its grackles and mourning doves—
that I can hardly hear my own lamentations. This planet. —Catherine Pierce
that I can hardly hear my own lamentations. This planet.
—Catherine Pierce

atoms

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