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Another poem you invite while lying on the floor of leaves scattered in a defensive frenzy of misunderstanding. A quick storm passed over in the efforts to comprehend the multiple meanings of a crisis indicated by a certain word. We wrote it while in the mindset of pondering a specific instance as opposed to generalizing our situation and our positions taken on the hardness of the floor. A floor with no covering and the window as a source of light, our bodily attachment versus machinations of our reading comprehensions, each splinter felt through our skin transmits to the friendly hardness of our bones. We are soft in the room and our particles greet each other in the softness of our voices talking what we have read, lying on top of books, paper versus wood.