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Ancient rocks, ancient like glaciation, tumbled through centuries and through time, and etched their way into the earth. The wind sounded like water, like waves, pushing though leaves of the highest trees, waving above and so below, all around me. A bird repeated a stanza, its song hollow, echoing. you give me steps to climb … Continue reading Answers

Bone writing

Fingers like twisted branches reach for a pen to write about the lines that fold around her gnarled knuckles dry with age from holding onto stories too long her forearms rest heavy on the smooth white pages of bark as she writes her story with ink made of dirt; lines of language.