you’re the moth-eaten moths of memory
the torn tapestry of my life
its seams of moonlight
scars become skin

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don’t know how
to write about you anymore
I’ll let silence sing

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sky packed too tight
bruised blue
needs to split itself open
thunder the wedge
hammered into the heart
of the stone
of the sky

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in perpetual twilight
slow as dream time

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rings made from rainfall

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I think of the shadows we could have created
floorboards laid together
the seams of dark between us
thick with spilled stars

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light soaked into
a longed-for letter
never sent
never written

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is love
the performers
performing for themselves
a slow show
once the wings
of the main show
packed away
instruments played gentle
as injuries

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replaced my heartbeat
with the syllables of your name

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sparrows dream songs
within the walls

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I write to you
to keep you near me

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a gate
spills the garden
into the street

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I don’t think about the thorns
I think about the blackberries
of your love
how they reveal the labyrinths
of my fingerprints
that touches the dark
trying to find your face

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summer did not live
in that summerhouse
winter and spring
braided themselves there

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