A note to God: here
is the history I promised-
the center of my city,
the mouth of my belonging,
the secret, serious invisible
longing, the stolen jewel.
Bless the younger life
that borrows its body,
returns- dissected
and touched and broken.
Bless the pages I have
torn and crushed
and thrown away-
imagine
the mistakes I've made.
In a long letter, I question
"deliverance?".
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