darling i think the prettiest thing of it is that i

have been dreaming about this moment since i was little,

pressing my mouth to the back of my hand to see what it felt like to be touched like that,

vermont is a half-finished poem with all the lines scratched out.

grandfathers who’ve lived here their whole lives still talk of leaving,

it is november now which is unbelievable

because last night we got blisters on our feet running

house to house in too-small rainboots, our wings

flapping lopsidedly behind us. it rained on and off