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By David Isahya Osu


not a silent door

not a house

without shadow

& time left in a garden, we

say there is

no question

except moon

light: you

before leaving

want to see

the size of

your wound


a window

a dream, a bird

your language


in the room

is crying

back to body

there is no one

to touch

like water

so i talk to

wine &

the window

—who will bid

me moonrise?

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