They staged the murder scene,
called it birth and everyone
was happy. For awhile.
At a certain age, after
the party, when fast moving
stars come to a screeching halt,
we become suspicious. Some nights
I can smell the perfume of
my childhood, like a tracking dog
I wind and wheel through tunnels
of my heart. Through light to
darkness and then the silence,
falling into water, gasping
for that first, virgin breath.

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