"Omens" by Cecilia Llompart| Dark Poetry



the dead bird color of a bruise it's smaller than an eye swollen shut his cape among almonds who can believe the ants for feasting let him cast the first crumb we once tended the Oracles now we rely on a photograph a fingerprint my hand we never saw coming the man draws a chalk outline first in his mind around nothing then around the body of another man he does this without thinking what can I do about the white room I left behind what can I do about the great stones I walk among now what can I do but sing even the small cut can sing all day there are entire nights I would take back nostalgia is a thin moon disappearing into a sky like cold unfeeling iron I dreamed you were a drowned man crown of phosphorescent seaweed in your hair water in your shoes I woke up desperate for a pair in another dream I was a field can you combed through me looking for something you only thought you had lost what every left at the altar of sorrow what blessed thing will we leave tomorrow you

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