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Sunday, April 24, 2011

lysimachia

the sun sets
in every page 
torn from our lives,
where lost,
cohesive,
outstretched hands 
become brittle,
and cautious.

i covered your lips
with unutterable found-
and quietly,
this severed desire 
was diminished.

i hear your name 
in all the spaces 
between us

(it's not enough 
to want 
in silence)

it is as if 
from deep inside
the knife in my back
knew of no other place
to creep around;
bury roots;
leave;
and call "home".

3 comments:

halfbreed said...

incredible work my friend.
loved the brittle hands stanza and the last one was perfect

Lola Nation said...

wrestling with silence...I enjoyed and feel that there is so much more to say ...

seth elkins said...

thank you, to the both of you.