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4 Hour฀of฀Dawn The฀light฀covers฀us฀with฀little฀tongues, making฀us฀conscious฀of฀bed฀sheet฀texture. We฀hold฀ourselves฀in฀contempt. Our฀bodies฀coax฀a฀story฀sunrise cannot฀disrupt฀as฀shade฀passes. Then฀morning—we฀think฀only of฀the฀honeysuckle,฀the฀cedar the฀trembling฀aspen, its฀bark,฀a฀sepulcher-white฀moment. In฀the฀low฀dream,฀we฀turn฀and฀break฀.฀.฀.฀our฀bodies rise฀and฀breathe. The฀hour฀of฀dawn฀holds฀us฀still. We฀still฀our฀lungs.฀Eyelids฀clench facing฀the฀sun฀and฀we฀fade. Our฀skins฀warmed฀away฀from฀dormancy, gleam,฀star-like฀and฀far. We฀are฀gathered฀back฀into฀the฀things฀of฀this฀world and฀turn฀away฀from฀the฀sore-red฀sun,฀moved to฀deny฀who฀we฀will฀be฀when฀we฀are฀awakened. ...

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