Moonrise

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?

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