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Thinning

Like the soles of beloved boots
or a much worn and nose-blown hanky,
so is the hope in permanent
deferment.
                    All worn down,
covered in the muddy
dust. Saliva and tears.
Perhaps a bit of blood
from nasal passages irritated
in the cold, dry seasons.
It’s all a mess,
worn down, worn thin,
so thin, it takes one push
to break through.
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Liv is an urban monk, a poet, a painter, a birder, and a student of Christian Spirituality. She has been engaged in creative writing more or less consistently for two decades and was slightly startled, though far from displeased, to discover that poetry is her medium. When she’s not writing, Liv practices gardening, pipe-smoking, leather-working, and mischief. She has been published in Loft Books, The Blue Daisies Journal, The Way Back To Ourselves, and Vessels of Light. Peeks into her work can be found on Instagram and Twitter.

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