We’ve grown older. We are now bindweed

tamed onto garden trellises


Back when it was always morning

we spread without ever touching anything

We unraveled our palms to take hold of the day

and made dense thickets of wastelands


Now we shield our faces from the light


Tragic this, how the dew stays on windows now

unmarked by sleeves to look out into morning

We’ve grown older


The unborn call to us from somewhere

close and faraway,

on the other side of walls

their voices sound like water

They are jays scolding from unseen branches

They will glower when they see us

wag their chubby fingers in disapproval

and write on chalk boards with rusty nails


And they will say:

the lost one became blind through herself

the clouds got trapped in her eyes

we were the sky on the other side

that she could not see

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