a year is gone
fifty-two sundays
and many are the moments she fell from my mind
the moon and the sun still trade shifts
trees still reach for the sun
only to fall
still
i have moments when tears fill my soul
and inside i wail like a toddler at the sight of her own blood
why her
why then
fair
fair is a four-letter f-word made up by adults
a laughable lie passed through generations
a moon made of cheese
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