Wordle #268

286

Another brown day stripped
of all but the ligaments.
Must I remain here
sick with what ails me?

My prayers fall to the ground
like soldiers claimed by war.
I have bled my last albatross.
I have dreamed with and without fire.

I drag my fingernails across
your obligatory ghosts.
We met, diminished by artifice.
A smile carved of balsam and ash,
your body is my mourning stone.

I stitch doors into each of your palms.
Receive me with the equanimity of paper,
love me, punish me, punctuate me with ellipses.
I have only regret to lose.

(now to remember how to write!)

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25 responses to “Wordle #268

  1. Gorgeous writing:

    “We met, diminished by artifice.
    A smile carved of balsam and ash”

    “I stitch doors into each of your palms.”

    The last stanza is excellent.

  2. well if this is your “forgetful mode” – than damn – we should all just chuck it in now and wander about stoned, in some desert, lost forever.

    each stanza is like a punch – not necessarily aggressive or combative – but once again – you’ve done it so well.

    • Thank you so much! I don’t know why the image of people wondering around in the desert made me laugh but it did. Sam often says that he could see me wondering around, walking from place to place scribbling poems, listening to stranger’s stories and ranting incoherently to myself. Actually I probably would be doing that if I wasn’t married.

  3. I agree with wordwitch…..I don’t think you’ve ever ‘forgotten’ how to write…your words are always spellbinding and powerful, Yves! And this is NO exception. Stunning as always.

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