tinder,
tinder;
all is tinder

— underbrush
and overgrowth,
cracking and parched:
perfect kindling
for someday-fires —

light breathes
air heavy
with memory,
suffocating
in the midst
of giants who
cannot get out
of the way
or give it space

that broken giver
stumbles from surface
to surface, searching
every nook and cranny;
every knobby amputee
and beheaded corpse
felt, roughly,
but for an instant,
a knowing moment,
and searched

what is sought?
what is sought
amongst this sad tinder?

what is left
to find?

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One thought on “№ 40: Where Once Stood Giants

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