Lines, not thingsby Wendy McVicker |
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Edges of things, not the things themselves. Borders, border crossings, not the flat countries, all alike. Boundaries, places of possibility and want — where no one is sure what currency to use, what words will buy freedom, where we (orphans, all) can slip like shadows, or dreams from one world to another, forgetting nothing — all we need, carried in our eyes: eyes the color of earth, of sky, of water crossed by clouds — weighing what words matter, and what words to leave behind, wrapped in silence | |
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