To build a nest of brainwavesSteffi Drewes
Beyond the dull hum of the mudcity sprawl, wait for the meadowfox to vanish, den-deep. Before new limbs find scissors motion or aerial outlooks—fall still, swollen plume. Tree ligaments tighten, knowing every night was named for this. Call it dew-spotted angel birth. Call it thirsty perching wooden pedestal.
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