Here is something old that I revised today, after looking through a very old notebook:
We live in the crescendo of wings
beating, seamless--meaning--
an awareness of silence
our words breaking
under the weight
of empty air--
This, the space between bodies--
friction of distance
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1 comment:
I like this poem. I wonder if I've seen it before or if I just recognise your voice in it?
voz
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