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  • In January

    I can finally hear her.

    She no longer has to compete,

    she is all that remains

    and all that forever will.

    In January

    the other mammals are buried deep

    with hearts and lungs working

    just enough, just enough.

    The leaves no longer aid

    the wind's whistle

    the wind is

    only a silent freight train

    of disheveled hair.

    In January

    growth is resting

    and rest is growing

    and the earth's spin

    promises us

    a nap.

    Damn do we need one.

    In January

    I can finally hear her.

    The sound

    I've spent my whole life

    pushing away.

    Pushing away with

    some noise,

    some distraction

    afraid of what I might learn

    if I let her stay.


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