I wish for my tongue to taste of aspen

A rooted grip to ground me

When words fall out my mouth

theyre transported into lurching shapes

like browning leaves

The yellowing of my sentences is

forgotten

hard cased by intention.

Silent to the dieback of heartbreak

Resilience in a colony of mutual aid

Each syllable in place, slotted by the

(skip) just in front . goodbye from behind and welcome(go back)

Still each time I try to preserve some

resolve in that voice,

gaps between words become canyons,

dry and barren without the aspens .

I cant quite make the jump

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