the sound of something living

the entirety of your weight

crashes down beside me

wrestling

affection from the glances

I didn’t want to be touched.

so you sent me miniature

whispers

wrapped in sparkly asterisks

they greeted me where i had

f

a

l

l

e

n

.

blameless ash

feathering my fractal exterior:

absent observations

extracted

from what never made itself

heard.

Those are the bootsteps

imprinted…

in the sand.

“The only evidence I was left here to dust.”

you smile anyway

dancing,

though you don’t.

Dancing

because “what is there to do anyway?”

it’s not whether art is life, or likewise

                                                            ———–    it’s because we make the living within our eyes.

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