“hope would be hope for the wrong thing”
T.S. Eliot
I wait to be reborn
in this fallow ground.
Beneath my skin,
my bones hang heavy.
They ache for release.
The muscles tighten
like wire at my neck,
etching a tense smile
across dried flesh.
My lungs grow thick
in earth’s dark blood.
I cannot breathe.
(March 22, 2022)
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