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Dear sad ducks. Dear boats and truck.
Dear long barn in the fallow field.
Dear vines in winter. Dear deer & such—
Dear powerlines in a slow valley.
Dear unnamed ranges on the smoggy skyline:
hills like fists or narwhals or loaves of bread.
Dear hawk and thicket, scaup pecking
the puddly traffic island; dear racetrack,
dear gimcrack & so on—
Dear green tractor in lemongrass.
Dear kestrel and red-tailed hawk,
wobbly pink shed just off the road.
Dear arroyos, toyon, oyster-nacre ocean:
Now that I have your attention
I ask you only to be in the sun as you are.
Hold down the bowl of the sky with your shapes,
Hold this earth a while longer
as you swim in my vision—
Vital reading on politics, literature, and more in your inbox. Sign up for our Weekly Newsletter, Monthly Roundup, and event notifications.
“Never do unto me what your uncle has done to us.” A family member’s disappearance leads to personal revelations.
Critics say human rights discourse blunts social transformation. It doesn’t have to.
“My mother has not slept for seven days.” A Taiwanese woman’s brother avoids calling their mother, setting off an insomniac unraveling.