July 17

July 17

Red horizon. Then, a cool rain.

The last thing I said was, are you awake?
You watched me out of your darkness.
Last week, you painted your bedroom black.
Said it made you feel yourself again.
Brings back storms that scared you as a girl,
Made you sneak to your bedroom and sleep.
These days you dye your hair black, to stain time.
You were always something else, lustre
in the wet dark grasses of the silent-smelling
stars and the oval nests of birds and the weight
of my dreams as I waded out to take this picture.
Wild blackbird in this tiny cage,
wake inside me.

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