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naǧí Apr 2023
The dark room
forgets the stars
and venus, I fished in her moons
baited the page empty
to be more mysterious

fading into the ocean
in splashes of blue, I saw you

In spring
I planted tomatoes
too close to the jalapeños
and they married

Blessed was that marriage
and fruitful, every bite
was salsa in my mouth

Dissolving spice
leaves its prints
like time clapping upwards
a granite hill

on the other side, a bridge
between dusk and dawn
rocks the wind
has flung open the doors

The sheets cannot be retrieved
lifting high into the summer air
curling out over the barren fields

blackbirds glide into view
against the darkening clouds
they toss themselves among
the fading landscape of the sky
like pepper, or my dark dusty curtains
flapping in the cross breeze
falling to pieces, quietly

The cat ran away
It's been months
since I opened a book
or felt the sun

tracks across the sky

leaving its fire behind
hiding its face
in the dark somewhere
between the stars

© Copyright naǧí August 2016
  Feb 2018 naǧí
Elizabeth Squires
a grey dove now coos
on the deep cream painted fence
neath a light cloud sky
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