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Favorite Hymns of Praise

Wade Fletcher

Some don’t sip,
they gulp, undertaking
task for task’s sake,

your hand motioning the latch
turning it back towards
precedent. Some sip,

slip unworn from creation
staggered back as
image’s opening—

that the figure
allows development of
a figure, which allows

and is absent our
opening, or opposite—
our listing, our lagged

our brokered, our uptook
and open to, our absence,
our all about. Some gulp,

waking the air leeward, this
touch fasting lightly on skin,
reminder of present’s refusal.

Wade Fletcher

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