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Jul. 11th, 2016

What it is to be like me
 to fly
And see the islands in the bay
And skim the ocean foam
And what it is to learn from ancient roots
 Knowing the winds will take you home
Oh what it is to never yet go home.

What it is to be like me
to feel
Each chocopop that melts on a hot day
Each breath of rain
Each insect seeking sweet gold in the sun
And never losing anything again
And never finding anything again.

What it is to be like me
to be
Under the speckled moon
Run through the sky
With earth and stars to play the ancient game
Of live and die and live and die
Learning to live and die and live and die.

This is my birthday poem. It is neither artful nor complete, but it's a map.

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