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22 February 2015

Exhale

Mist settles on the lamp-lit streets,
stretching across my arms like a moan.
The horizon trembles in an effort to stay whole.

Poetry writes itself on the cobblestones.
Open the blinds to the sun-clear day, wait
for dusk to streak the sky gold, then wait
for grey. Rain rings in my ears. Cold grief
and shiver. I forget,

and I scrape memory off my skin
like a frozen ocean. A fractured dream.

Inhale first. You know how.
And again.
Breathe out, slow as a movie, into the night
choked with fog. The smoke rises, curls around
my face until I can't recognize myself anymore.

The sound of exhale. The fear of forget. The life of a life.

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