By David Isahya Osu
A
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
B
a window
a dream, a bird
your language
everywhere
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?