Monday, November 16, 2020

Auspice


They tell me time is a thief 

I plant surviving memories

for there is no cure for life

as there are no answers.


There is history to my grief

geography too--I wear what 

was done to me--uncertainty, 

a sadness, the calls to flood. 


Someone--carry my disbelief, 

it is heavy as a civilization.

I read skies to déjà vu myself 

greying--sometimes--silvered.


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