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(Lisa Milton)

The great lake in the moonlight
with the sewage only downstream
our pale limbs forgetting and remembering
the ancestors in one motion.
And she says and will say again
that motion became a thousand
each more intricate than the next;
In time, in our memories, and in the ripples of that water
and in our ascent somehow you turned to rock within my core
Like the one I carry in sities to remember
that outsied that concrete and steel forest
there is a mountain waiting.

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