How many sunrises will I see
How many bones will I break
How many digits will I smash
How many aches will I cherish 
How many homes will I know
How many stones in the ocean 
How many words will I write
How many moons will be devoured by ocean water
How many suns will be quenched by mountains
How many hearts are enough
How many times will I feel the gravity of the west tugging at my chest
How many sunspots will blossom within my pupils 
How many headaches will I have
How many more worries until I am safe
How many more twilights will I breathe through
How many more bodies will I know
How many skin cells will I prune 
How many puddles will I pass by
How many mountains will I watch grow white 
How many more mirror snakes will I watch prolong the horizon
How many more hours
How many more will melt 
How many more blood cells
How many more lifetime 
How many more blue sighs 
How many more lists
How many more cups of coffee
How many more starting points
How many more departures
How many more lemon skins 
How many more bone fibers 
How many more pinnacles
How many more pillows
How many more doctors
How many more tangerines
How many more poppies 
How many more blinks 
How many more molecules 
How many more phone calls
How many more miles
How many more opposites
How many more composites
How many more heredities 
How many more 48 hour waking days
How many more angles
How many more angels.
Angel Dominguez

Angel Dominguez, photo by Christopher Shugrue

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