June 5

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The heart is not here,
it can not, will not, be here—

in all this rain, more than
we’ve seen in several years.

A rabbit darts through
the overgrown lawn,

now gone to seed, each blade
a reproach. What hasn’t

been done, what can not,
will not. A sparrow ascends,

becomes untethered. Motion
is sometimes but not always

distraction. The clouds oppress
but containing is what breaks you.

In their garden beds
the radishes crack.

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