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Wasn't it last year this time we wandered conversations
like familiar roads we walked, blindfolded - our bodies felt each turn
and twists of mouths and furrowed brows for dying seasons
that were laid out for us to view and mourn the passing?
And we'll recount the memories of long gone passages
that lead us to this place, where as before, we readjust for loss.
Inaudible, the tones we speak and roam in smaller space
just as we did last year this time, and as we'll do again the next.
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