As the days dry out,
birdless, I remember the sight
of your closed eyes,
your repose as you slept,
a dream I dared not wake.
Now I curse my cowardice
and the past, now distant beyond a bird's flight.
Two years away, the wells of your eyes
are depths I can't sound
with my deaf gaze.
I should have
awakened you, after I had awakened to
the poems fluttering under your eyelids.
As the days dry out,
birdless, I regret
Your love, your lies, fool me...
and the skin crawl of your memory
still writing poems such as these
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