awakein the pocket
of a borrowed goat.
It showed me
the way-
small as an eye.
One mountain tried
to taste another,
then spit it out.
Your letter called
all the other letters
“friends.”
You too were
my friend,
soft as a melting
or melted nail.
Dear little cage,
dark plum.
- Not Here, Exactly by Joanna Fuhrman
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