I watched you digging in the doorway
piling sod at the rim of the hole
until it sat like a small hill
in the space between our bedroom
and the corridor
you turned and spoke
across the distance
but the pit
swallowed your voice
we hollowed the earth like this
nightly
at each of our thresholds
bolstering our membranes with liquor
and dressing our lips with mourning gowns
so many hours
spent kneeling beside it
tossing our futures in
like offerings
(Grave,
you swallowed them like spit)
so bleak we were
in your presence and indifference
that we failed to see the blooming
our gifts had made:
the pungent green rising
from the depths
of our composted hopes.
Had we only known the spectacular flame
a billion burning dreams can be,
or take into account the afterwards:
a spring rain mixing with ash
and turning to ink.
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