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a lovely letter to a lovely moon

that lovely little scrunched up little confused what it wants to be
face in the moon
makes me think of you, […]
our bond of sadness
it’s hiding now, shy, behind the pine

I understand
as you are, I am

drifting solidly
finding your own path
across the black void
outshining the stars

alone.

—twentyfive july twothousandtwentyfour (convergence)