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The Red Sea winds, breathless and cheerful, through Addis Ababa
Skip and stutter dust into dancing, much like the Ethiopian in me, while
Penitent breezes cross marsh in O'Gregory county, a shear, creaking voice,
Like ghosts tapping, hell-bent on visiting kin, so like that Irish in me, while
A girl clutching a chicken by its feet, limp as a failed prayer, scorches her lover's
Ear with a breath in passing on the street, a lot like the Puerto Rican in me, while
Dew from the hands of an eastern pine signs one Book of Sorrows,
Its pages, white as beaver teeth, and lost, -- just like this Seminole in me.
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