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How does one capture the feeling
of being made to feel
like a moon—cratered and whole,
a silvered face, catching 
and returning lemon-laced sun.
It’s a gift to know your light 
reaches the soil. A gift to see
the imprint of your touch. 
I felt the way you all felt me
when I saw you assembled 
like a fated family.
Each of you standing in the
dark of my dorm,
woven between strands
of love hung streamers. 
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American Elm, American City