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Anamaría Crowe Serrano

Pitter patter



Your hand is defiant in mine
straining to be unleashed like insistent rain
and break the silence below —
imprint itself on muddy ground
you love to tread
while you place the whispers soft between us
among the ferns, sure-footed as
echoes
rustling in slow motion,
as you must
in your cavernous way,
for me to listen one last time
and watch you

before letting go


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