VOX

Vox:
for the things, unmade.

May the northern zephyr
swallow these unborn, whole.

Vox:
for the reconciliations, unsaid.

May the silent tormentor freshen
with a sarcasm, très drôle.

Vox:
for the memories…

No star is as dark as ours.
No other chill quite smarts
like the dying star
that is ours
with a voice that dies on all fours.

Vox, vox for the memories.

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