The other night you told me how you
learned about suffering
when you studied hot yoga
in Mexico one summer.
We smoked cigarettes (mine menthol, yours red)
and I said
you’ve
lived so many lives and
you said
you
have too.
I thought about Watson, Illinois.
All the small spaces
where I learned about suffering
in so many places and in
so many lives.
Have I died so many times?
I just don’t learn my lessons.
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