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From Megan Merchant:

August 18, 2019

Vacancy is not an adequate splint for love. I was told to treasure
the red dust that grained in my hair and ears, the phantom
rain, the flat-earthers who gathered and measured the arc of sunset—
the shape of the world is as good of a religion as any,
but my god, have you heard the panged-song of coyotes, their
voice-wound loud, not afraid to tremble, not stomping
to smooth the cracks, or pausing in the open long enough
to pull the yucca spines from their skin.

The Years We Lived in the Desert

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