like an old folk song (glass bottle).

This road

is a glass bottle

thrown
at the sea,
a scratched note

cleaving tight
my breath

inside.
It rides

gravel

& storms
bright

with leaves

ashen

and rust
—scrapes

my breast
It rides

where the feet

hide,
this road

locked-up

inside my chest
my chest
—sky’s

looking-glass
bright

with leaves

ashen

and rust

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_______________

11219315_10153305577241696_4873792272343041322_n

Photo: Ava-rebekah RAHMAN

 

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