Two poems. Back to back. I watched them twice.
Not to understand. I understood the first time.
I watched them twice because something was being handed across the screen, and I wasn’t sure I had caught it.
The second time I caught it. Not with my head. It landed somewhere lower. I have been carrying it around all week, and now I know what it is. It is the same thing in both poems.
It is, I think, the one thing poetry is actually for
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