Ghost of Earth ©

Death Baths

November 1, 2016 Poems, Word, Writing

Swallows gathered
and separated overhead
like bees
from the mouth
of a sunken meadow,
you couldn’t see them
as we went on about
killing our superegos

When you let
the water fill to your
upper lip
did then the ends
turn upward
like mine?

Did you see the swell
before –
or after
you rushed the tide?

Though flame denied,
you tried for
so long to start
that pyre
by ocean,
blacking out
it’s futility
your devotion.

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