dust's day

she's

so. far. away.

she's

blown across
     the prairie

(only a handfull of her in my hand)

she's

a stolid island
     in a grass sea

she's

grown on the bones
     of wounded knee

i wonder if

she's

     lonely

i think

all my letters done
turned to

     dust

and the grass must be
over her
     head

by now

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