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by Taylor Bond
Happiness is something that can only be glanced upon;
I look back on it now, eyes cast over my shoulder,
but the sun is still too bright. Like the flash of a bomb;
the glimpse of heaven before disintegration,
the invisible traces of radiation like a religion
spreading through pale air and roots.
How I wish to return and lose myself
in that blindness. Let myself free into
the sound of rope snapping in the wind
by the temple’s gate, burn with salt, the ocean
cold and dragging sand into its gut; that freedom
that glorious, imperfect freedom that only exists in thoughts;
it is a dangerous and shattering home.