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Catrina Sparrow Mar 2015
she exhales in outcrops of lilies of the valley
and cries with the echo of a landslide
     but when she laughs
the sun himself rushes to brush against her burial mound cheeks
and pretend he was was the spark that launched her into bated birdsong
shoutout to the sun beams, and mom's mossy gardens.

— The End —