Pisces on Land

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The memory of a war

reverberates through the ages

like rings around a tree trunk.

The drum beat ripples

into silence.

An ancient secret has been passed

down my spine like an earthquake,

but I was not careful

the day I climbed from the lake,

and now I need a chiropractor

to play forest sounds in my ear

while he straightens out the truth.

Dried leaves cut my feet

like empty crisp packets

and all I receive is needle static

when I try to listen with

my palm against the bark.