the flood of my affection

 

this silence like
ova bursting in my
mouth, my eyes
windows shivering behind the storm
just before the
break

I

lean my face into the glass
pane, something
trembles in your

gaze, an
imperceptible

gap:

I

go          through          it,
my mouth full of
shrapnel
my chest torn by

light, like

a stained glass
window,
blazing.


Andrew Wyeth. “Wind from the Sea”, 1947
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