For the end of a long and intense month where breaks and pauses have been few and far between, I give you a short and beautiful poem by Joy Harjo, from her collection She had some horses (1983).
The poem I just wrote
The poem I just wrote is not real.
And neither is the black horse
who is grazing on my belly.
And neither are the ghosts
of old lovers who smile at me
from the jukebox.
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