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ravelled breath
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“Ravelled Breath Beneath the Dawn”
Before the roosters clear their throats,
the mist takes the shape of horses in the orchard.
You draw the air in slow—
it tastes of damp bark and old lime.
The ribs expand against the coarse wool of your coat,
a cage holding a small, shivering bird
that forgets how to sing when the sun hits the fence line.
We walk to the road without speaking,
our bootprints filling with gray water
before the first light can greet them.
.
