Dirty eyes. They tell it all, the Lazarus, the Icarus, and the reluctance to bring my dead back to me.
Since I was a little girl, I was in love with wind, the land, and the proximity of the moon. Her glowing face shed just enough grace to soothe my tears in its quiet light. I felt the depth of her passion, her longing, her loneliness, her strength. I sought the eyes of her face; along with their color, and holding smile. She traced me along the footprint I patted down; little girl beating brown; a tiny hand of mud.
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