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by Tanner Bean

If I could hold
her single breath,

a breath

she couldn’t help but take
enrobed in roses in the sky,
and in between the light-to-light.

If I could hold it—

that breath

in hands, my globe, like bronze
and weld it hard into my core

she’d breathe,
a molten remembrance,
dense and hard,

she’d coax
life’s fire from
daily soul cold,

as her whole soul
stays bronzed and breathes.