"Your hands: less dirt doesn't mean they're clean." -Sunparlour Players/
Smooth your feathers.
Contain your wings.
Quiet the shouting ones.
Making the world habitable.
Ironing out the surface.
What is it in the air you cannot still?
I taste it:
The damp soil in that brisk wind
The ever-pressing
The present-tense
The Pressure's presence,
Declaring on your behalf.
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