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Ingrid Oliphant

How You Move Me


This skin-bound mold

of human,

thisness,

this being

Continues to be shaped,

poured into

by the powers that be.

Being hidebound

can’t contain

the flow of those who

merge to emerge,

to pour out

into the rivers of we.

For those to

reemerge

into remembrance

pliancy of silken thread,

not protections,

the

tensile strength

of the heart.

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