Reading a Map Is a Form of Dreaming
Where can I find a quieter mind
When I hunt it is always in the real darkness
Someone told me to invent a place and then listen to it
What I heard were leaves
In the dark like this a house looks like a mountain
The dog is its own shadow
This is a haunting poem, Hannah. It feels like a cento in that it is wonderfully "pieced" together with evocative lines that suggest more than their surface.
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