The Book

Where are the names written down?

In subway stations under restless feet

Or clenched in brick on top of your apartment building?

The night fog hugged our bodies like we were

Something to be examined and tested for

Saturated patterns of repetitive emotion.

But do they keep records nowadays?

Are they hidden in your dowries

Or stolen in the glances between us?

I saw a man standing at the corner,

Engulfed in mist

Holding out your name

Did you see it?





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