Jacob Kelly


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You are your actions

surrounded in a foreign land
filled with white puffy dryer lint seemingly falling from the air, appearing from thin air
the flakes of the snow don’t fall but drift
finding the pattern of flight that was right from them
large fluffy but weightless objects, acting as if unrestricted by the forces of this world

the flakes so big
I open my mouth, tongue out and facing the sky
I catch flake after flake, some as big as my entire exposed tongue

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