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| FROM THE MUSE | BY MNEMO RICE | MAY, 2013 |

Welcome to the world of languid minds,
sleeping, sleeping—waiting like the tiny things
curled up under the Saharan sand.
We ran ourselves around our heads until
the broken twilight called us back
to our separate hammocks.
I closed my fingers over my belly
and the night sky took my eyes
for its own, glowing like
age-old helium.
My mind was the one who started
to speak, not me, I swear.
You muttered something in your
all-too blissless sleep,
but the mountains rocked us
until the sun winked out in
all its glory, sparking the
tiny things in our heads.