*

And the gust that circles these graves

--they wander off, sweeping away

everything except the dirt

 

by now night after night

herded as small stones

though it’s no longer raining

 

--what takes you by the hand

is this mud-caked headwind

holding you back so nothing dries

 

looks just for your lips

taken one beside the other
from your face and later.

 

 

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