We're breeding

a repair moment.

A space to hold

our hands through

so when in flight

we gather up the goggles,

tell someone we love

that we don't love

waiting around.

We give up something

small and old.

We grow in raincoats

and ocean gear

when warm goes missing.

In crane language,

our face in the swamp

where our pipelines are.

Dressed to toes in

empty bunches, standing

tall to reach the sink.

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