tiny deaths
poured into
the vase
that stands
on the table
by the window….
by the bed
in the room
that only
our most
powerful longings
can enter….
the address
known only
by love.

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unnamed ashes that smolder.
blades of grass never speaking,
small stones half buried.
dust on the windowpane,
raindrops that fall
and then rise…
straw gathered for the nest,
the silence of the eggs.
the tongue, and the ear,
the moment that does not pass.
the lid on the box,
the nails shaped like prayers.,
nothing, everything…
candles never lit!

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