A break from tales and back to morbid


Sometimes in memory, and sometimes in dream.
Moments that signify but do not mean
have weight. Sometimes things I have never seen
that I remember. Ceiling with a beam

dark in the twilight six foot overhead.
Someone is breathing next to me. Their face
in dark. Canal-bridge lamppost, are a space
defined and so important. When we’re dead

it’s not just what we’ve done and said that dies,
it’s all we may have done, but don’t recall,
or only dreamed. In death, our dreams will fall
like dealing burning cards. Things that our eyes

awake passed over yet lodged in our mind
dissolve. Not even ash or foam behind.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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