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here, time is silent change
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there's a rhythm, a sweeping of poplar porches;
verandas in white heat, doorless
in a sour land of rice and wine.
a story of bittersweet entailment
and a dangerous mistake.
windows in late afternoon are sunlight
and candy lips put on old eyes.
why's there sorrow in the red clay plains,
crying colour into the river bank,
and everything is change?
connect your freckles, they said, like oceans
always, back to clouds we return.
here, i'm sorry's grow out of the black earth
where i hate you's drip from branches
and spilt milk never makes you cry.
the rhythm flows hard through us, bold
until something exhales, it's over.
these are the true alarms of all that
is fragile and pleasantly syringed.
here, time is silent change.