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and the face
that reminded her
of what loss was,
arose in full circle.
the light shone on
what the darkness kept
hidden: the dead
bodies of little furry animals;
all the white rabbits
(as if pulled out from that magical hat)
appeared, surrounding her.
first two lines had been the exact words i remembered from some dream. the rest is a recollection of the gist of the longer poem.
after painfully separating
the colors in intricate patterns
she allows herself the full glimpse
of her daily labors. and without
hesitation brushes the dry earth,
along with her work.

her long fingers unfurling,
the long and brittle parts
breaking into sand.

7 November 2018
literary exercise "hands" ; remembered natgeo clips, one from a monk in ornage robes and another woman from India, creating mandalas from colored sand only to brush it with the earth as soon as they finish.

**** it, what's wrong why wont asterisks for italics work now?
my ribs were pierced and the last 
vestige of life kept pouring out.
​and when the last word was said,
my body was lain among the mute.

I was a carpenter once, yet I will  
Soon be carved from wood
To sit in silence like furniture,
all dressed up and well kept
with expressions on my face: 

Of pain, of hope, of kindness.

But let us keep our eyes
on what cannot be seen.
What is visible is seldom what it shows.

A man I once knew kept with him a jar of seawater
He reasons that when he wakes up 
He is reminded by the vastness of the sea. 
And he embraces its fragrance: 

Salt and water.

Can not a jar claim a portion of the sea as his?
Or to put it in perspective is it not the sea that embraces us?
Our mouths and minds are still, left open and dull in silence
Waiting perhaps in solitary meditations 
or in many tongues we will talk.
and the crowd will call us drunk.

I and my other self are one. 
But soon, after I have gone another will take my place,
he will embrace us like the sea 
Even in places where no sea is in sight.
One thing is certain: salt. 
The tasteless air will ink new births of sea.

Today let us clothe ourselves in the nakedness 
of our adopted innocence. We will walk with the many 
and again converse in the greater garden.

- 5 September 2018
didactic,
We both ask for a reminder
of our closeness:
A broken handle of a porcelain cup,
an old book you said you lost
in the flood, and the jacket
we both shared in the absence
of an umbrella.

Whispering words that remain
unsaid. Struggling to hold on
to what little we can keep;
the spaces are left out
for memory to fill in.

- 7 August 2014
old 2014 draft. this was for some girl but i no longer remember who. hahaha
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