There are misguided prayers I am only now getting clear on. Bittern resting in swampy flats. Broken vacuum cleaners, toasters, microwaves. We make gluten-free waffles and slice leftover baked potatoes into steak fries while I lecture everybody about the ham-handed symbolism in Star Wars. What do you know by heart? Miscellaneous guitar cords and pedals. My youngest daughter's reading habits pointing towards both anger and grace. There is in my heart a deep longing to play D&D again, and I wonder who among my peers will say yes at this late - and getting later - juncture. It's band-aids all the way down, is about the best way I can say it. What one sees when they hunker beside puddles, a face obscuring the sky.
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