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  • Hridi

Words left us, like the other gods

The sky mourns at the roof of my mouth. I want you but the sea more.

Stained lens of our ancient camera, look! Shadows dissolve in the walls of incongruent grief,

none captured.

This is a prayer for a wick, and the last of this expensive oil to keep at bay the living dead.

I am tempted to believe, to outlive the absence of word, the sadness afloat this frozen sea of fear silent,

half capsized.

One lives for what one cannot have, like you, your mouth, a wave that touches not the feet of a receding ocean.

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