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A LETTER TO THE WOUND
Should you find yourself alone driving to places where you're unlikely to be found with you're unlikely to be found with your skin lit with salt, water, and movement of air from an open window, I invite you to pull off if you see an animal.
If the water in your car is hot, put it on your hands instead.
If you can slow the desperation rhythms in your breathing, you might find that you can smell sage.
You might find that you can smell rain.
Should the rain find you, leave the window open.
If you feel the animal-cry climb its way to your lips again, open your mouth, but remember that the idea of regret, even if grief, is a trick-
we only know what we know.
There is no such thing as knowing better.
A Letter to the Wound: Work
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