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Mosquito
Six hours for everything!
She has to make some
choices. I would do what
she does-fly up
from the cool water
like a dust mote,
dry my wings, hoping they
might lift me further.
I would jazz it up,
all for love, draw circles
on the air. In this
brief, expanding universe
of suns, I would try to be
nothing but longing,
entirely hunger. And when I died,
I’d leave behind a memory
like an itch.
—Jeanne Murray Walker
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