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Two Graves

— Angelo Colavita & Joanna C. Valente

two unmarked graves, side by side

On being blue—
                                    I’ve never been anything else,

                                                            wordless, breathless

                                                            or so it seems

                                                            (me, a body

            not in service)

So many announcements

                                    I can’t tell where my body

exists

                        when you are gone

                                                I reach for you

inside of dreams and outside of my body

            and I feel you but can’t see you

                                    Is it that someone tore us

apart like metal pipes sawed in half

                                    or is it that we did it to ourselves

                                                stupidly, blindly?

            Can our choices

                                    be undone

                                    belonging & unbelonging, being & unbeing?

            undreaming

                                                quite here, and quiet          Who

                                                                                             needs a

                                                                                             body when

                                                                                             all we’ve got

                                                                                             is time? The other

                                                analogous to the inner
                                                                                             light
            or, child

wild orchid of belonging to             Mother
                                                                                    of Harvest

                                    we, in the wheatfields

            a sacred promise                                                 an Autumn offering

      from one

beast
to
                                                the next: She—

                                                            foil of magnesium
                                                            filled with salt and folded
                              forward, buckles
                       cells swell, corrupted
                     This is how we give up             how we give in to parody

                                                                        It’s quiet here and quite lovely
                                                                        She takes and embraces
                                                                        what is dream (is more
                                                                        like body, like breath
                                                                        like belonging to
                                                                        like coming
                                                                        from) let
                                                                        go

            The other being red


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