Friday, April 30, 2021

cento for april 2021

it’s late, and it’s time
for being threatened with death.
beneath the skin,
i practise all the reminders.
i am looking for fresh words,
small promises.
i’m not convinced
and head to the kitchen.
i say too much, and
it empties us more—
the weakness trying
to explore and mark
our stores
before we forget them.
what is there beyond heat?
birds,
the weight of words;
have we forgotten
you, love, and all the ones you hate?
it was sunny and
i found a secret door
for beauty.
the grass will be green,
even now.
you asked me to dance,
or someone did.
maybe there is still more to say:
old things can be renewed.
i’m not yet dried out.
let’s try this again.

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