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her eyes soar the treeline

some stillborn constellation

received no birthright

received no name

we gathered it up and combed its hair

broke the bones to fit just right

if each memento we keep is just as dead

what will we find to hold their memory

in that empty skull

rings a verse from the old story

broken bird singing to the sky

the dreamer must dream

I’ve never seen the end of this road

but I’m sure I’ve been there before, somewhere

so let’s thread the stars into a mantle

dim the lights and slip away