Two weeks breathing the dead
each breath marking each
stunning absence

ourselves as
coffin, winding sheet, urn
worm
but oh, of what is God made?
10/9
We lived among blossoming words
until some of them exploded, like one
human exploding another
say human again
try to feel the word
on your lips
10/23
The dead have dispersed
It has rained on them twice
they have drifted to sea
ascended in mist
Breathe them once again //
and begin
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