Warm little world I belong to, let me curve my hands into your heart. Warm little opus of a month, this is where I sit. The peach, plum and pear trees are rooting their tiny tendrils into the ground and the Trenton air runs thick with July. Branches and backyard bumbling I am watching two birds sit on a wire and hum the trilling tune of Tuesday. Always Tuesday. Let the dirt rise up and let me skin sink in. I’m ready to wash away in the sand.

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