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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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