Truth is thin like breath
along a mountain range
with less to hold it dear
close to the ground.
It is hard to breathe here.
The fear of falling
catches in my throat,
and I cannot speak.
What more is there to say?
Everything and nothing,
Some form of memory
broached near the end
to hang from evergreens
like talismans in the sun?
(June 28, 2024)
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