Covers

I am sitting on the edge of the bed,
white as hospital sheets.
In the window I see I am a shadow, 
seen through.
Outside, the men have started a fire.
Their words are bees,
that travel from bruised lips
to lips the cold has faded.
I will be silent and listen for winter.
It will come so that everything becomes the same.
It will cover every shadow with nothing.

 

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