you have only a few days left,
my friend. everything is slower—
but also sooo loud.

the past i’m still carrying
for no good reason; when you die,
they put you in a box.

you drifting off and recognized
our common haze,
tangled circles,

ever more talkative
as the afternoon shades
toward darkness.

unusual animal, where they don’t
expect—you are so replete
with terrifying potential—

and yet i know i’m built for depth.
to heal a wound is to account
for the wounding.

sheltering deep
in the goldenrod,
begin.

//

This is hyperverse, composed from hypertextual fragments of other bloggers' work. Follow links to read the complete pieces.

Selamat tilem 🌑