Say rolling, or where hills crest & give

way to a sudden stark, that shift, not quite
elevation but landscape, a texture almost

forgotten. & what we realize we’ve given
up without ever having: that sacrifice made

in advance of, what we’d say was once
choice & now seems deliberate act of

blindness or resignation, what maybe
we mean finally when we mutter maybe

to region here. But here, long after all that,
we are. Here where nothing but sky, this

horizon pulling itself full round & so far off
a distance we can’t remember, how just days

ago those narrowing walls or any lack of view
made of whatever life we call ours a smallness.

 

 

 

 

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