Ceremony
We count headstones like this:Hankey, Hankey, Brown.Children chant games and tear through the woodsat dusk, circling up, taking turns poking a dead birdwith a stick, weightless ceremony, and at bedtime they will stuff their pillowswith prayers, uprooted lilies, and September.Do we still forget that stars hover in perpetual death? Through the dawn, each step stirs a murmurationof starlings, a swarm
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