return to the o the turned on itself poem someone slowly says adieu meaning something hollows if we could know
if we could swoop and scatter of will distanced and provincial "I wanted to..." tell you weeks at best days likely
days likely flat angled full of the effort to say some last to last how you will remember me how I will echo echo
know how to be home
I will know and across some at the end of some in some turning again greet you something like you now
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