i

made the little noises,
pounded fists
into

solid,
earth

seeking something
that could not,

never,
— not never,
i hoped,
i prayed —
be found

and the tiny
depressions,
just like me;

tiny, nothing
to whom
i owed everything

but it hurt
all the same,
and i wandered

crying,
awkwardly at first
, because i did not know,
had not learned
some autodidact!

how

for whom
did the chill
spread,
and rage and guilt
seek to protect
my broken heart

and for whom
did i yet hold

a hopeful breath?

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