I collect the feathers of flightless birds
while you’re hypnotized by a wind turbine gently tumbling
We study the body language of trees
and are numbed by our complicity in their suffering
In our minds we hold hands
as we jump off a cliff
When we talk to each other
it sounds like snow
We heal
but we don’t know how
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 18, Issue 5.
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