Cottons Sun And Breath
J
James McLain
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Cottons sun and breath; and I walk into it,
my back upon the sun and my being
sundresses to the front, she blinds me.
White with dust, sweaty limbs do too drip,
and every where white tipped, and sagging
and trusting; I wash my hands deep, the bush's,
heart where hands feel cottons sun and breath.
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