The air You slit


A fire burning

feeding on black threads



Sown into eyelids

of all the corners

Consuming time






It is to breathe 
the slit air

you cut with 
your hand

through a window





To look for words

and finding them elsewhere

elucidating in the fire pit



Glowing






when not

a void appear






Dispersed

spreading 

like a wildfire



Burning ends

but it does not end

it is time






What is time to a fire?






Someone once said

"Grief suits you"




Then thankful

for Your gift

to dress me up




I wear you

like a jewel



with pride


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