subtext

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Disembodied Voices

Each night

the story lies

in the embers

burning low

through our skin.

One hears more,

as in sleep,

than the tale

crackling

on the grate.

By morning,

we wake

to a stranger

world where

difference echoes 

in our whispers

like curls of smoke

across ash.

(March 16, 2022)