Milli

His grandfather told him,

Boy, you try too hard.

 

But so much isn’t done,

The Poet thinks.

 

Next time, next time.

But next time is too late.

 

Holding such moments to

the fabric of his throat,

 

The Poet grabs a breath,

and the weight of that

 

breath, it dampens the

paper. Grandfather,

 

I know what I need

to do. I need to write

 

with the weight

of 1,000,000 breaths.

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