~afterword

this, I’ve learned from the quiet
from the breathing
in rooms where rain won’t reach
in a house built from sheets
of paper
a voice escapes the keyhole
& imagination follows
dismantling daylight & darkness
a calamity of strangled language
& thundering hoofbeats
stirring dust bottled in bluedark
veins
like inkstains of fine wine
if it is born of fire or water or air
it must be poetry
searching for the curve of
a listening ear

lah. 5.12.16 ©®

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