A Day, Early Fall

One:

At this moment, all things have overtaken me.
The white words from a friend, gone and walking now
between unknown walls, books.
The way these words evaporate in my head and
condensate from the corners of my eyes–how they
sit at the base of this blue throat, confused as though
my mouth has heard your voice.

Two:

The entire world has fallen in 36 hours–bodies floating
over ashen smoke sheets–how we have captured those
moments on black and white–to remember destruction;
what it was like to crumble–individually inside–every
sensing person. How the glass city in my mind has
morphed into only chards of bent metal and upward hands.
How the city will infiltrate you like your pages.

Three:

I am sitting in a bright orange chair–watching in a daze as
breath walks around me. Closing eyes to concentrate on
how it laces over my arms–how the smell of you is brought
to my nose at certain moments, remembering how life
is a mirage somehow. This isn’t real. How wrapping my legs
through yours as the sun broke our sleep this morning
could be stolen. When I listened to my mother’s voice
on the phone and all I could do was hold your head to my
chest and realize I didn’t have the required strength in my
body to cradle you as though I meant it.

My mother’s voice.

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