Sunday, July 07, 2019

The Telling




It's like we are hoarding
their journeys, songs, stories
their trauma alone, icy, burning

It is in the dripping of pain
from the empty sky, empty day,
the scrim of our red, weeping hearts

What rends us, is the vatic cry
of all the children calling, calling,
calling our names, even as we sleep

***





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