Early February i cannot live through the middle of the day, i am waiting around to die, i must go out and out show me something i cannot even think of
you showed me something i cannot even think of, three deer through the light shadow of the wood just now the lake is zero degrees
you are involuntary, sleep is measured in shivers through a pale hour, this pale hour? a house, a road, a place in the forest- all this in the snow, which holds depth and gives nothing
i’d like to meet you sometime, i say, the part of you that isn’t spoken by the blue mind of your heart
you meet me somewhere, here as you take the hour apart you are like a being is, the spine of the world, the death that we are all coming to it is sad to know that you are so beautiful
when did you come apart from the world you are one breath past this impossible plain as the sun dips and rises, as the birds fall into a row and scatter
Copyright @2018 Elena Botts
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A poem from the book:
Published by Mwanaka Media and Publishing, Zimbabwe www.africanbookscollective.com