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Zywa
Poems
Oct 2021
Lost in language
He drove me to the sea
I make small steps
barefoot
Barefoot steps in the cold
sand, I do my best
I don't lie down
The toes of my feet
comes towards me
Next to his steps
We have done this
before, nothing wrong
The wind was always blowing
salt into my hair
foam into my words
playing hide and seek
inside my head, and the seagulls
squawk shrilly through it
I get lost in language
differences and bad
connections, and still
he does not notice
For Maria Godschalk #139 --- Collection "On living on"
#brain
Written by
Zywa
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