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Footprints

Ever since you have left
I have had to reconstruct
the story of a river
from fine, fertile alluvium.

A river i'd thought wouldn't end,
keep providing meaning, energy
fertility and flow.
Dried up.

I'm having to put myself in context of
our history.
To other people.
You are the one golden thread
that explains my existence, my experience
that core which runs through my being
that is all you have now become
from a person of breath and flesh.

You now live in the history
that i am responsible for reconstructing.
Brick by brick
you are now legend
and our life together is only
footprints in wet cement
permanence in
my lonely heart.

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angry

my grandmother used to spot in us a hereditary anger the chest learning to well up blood learning to leap and breath learning to crawl foreheads burning with heat of little children the attempt of anger to become disgusting raging energy that will occupy every living stream. nobody wants to hold an angry person rage drunk, getting bigger and bigger until other people are invisible like ants and you can dissolve them in your hot blood and things around you break and shatter at this point she would hold. a violent hand shaking her away Ya I remember my grandmother used to spot it in us as children already And hold our hand "until you get over your rage I will not let go of your hand"  hold VERY TIGHTLY "I will not leave your hand until you learn how you should calm down" i would fail despite that gesture  to understand what was happening and i could not receive love at that time because i have so much anger But the act she is doing is still that of HOLDING

Numbers

I know now the minute at which the sun sets and rises When I'm nervous I know the speed at which my heart runs when it floods I know the amount of water that overflowed in cusecs. The number of animals that are alive within some species The degrees by which the earth is heating and the exact amount of diminished magnetism. I have recorded the day and the time the GPS co-ordinates of when we grew apart the number of letters in goodbye as a faithful accountant of the heart I have no numbers on my loneliness the degree by which expression dumbed down and smiling and frowning became more similar like interpolated homotopic lines coefficients of a grey space of feelings.