as we left the forest plains
made of kilometers and segmented by our hearts,
we lost ourselves–intentionally–
between gray silent peaks and our forgotten houses.
the rest was lighter breakfasts
to shake away from slumber, northern eyes, short blonde hair and all of julys past
and to call out the places that hosted us
as hostile, or fake hostile.
keeping a secret well hidden, and enjoying
the mitteleuropean summer
in its brief butterfly life.
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