After the Scream
a poem by Paula
After the scream,
there is always a swallow
the god-mouth devouring
of these calcified remains
and what is left, then, but silence.
The birds, too, have fled.
their nests now dust-hovel shallows
in an endless, barren winter.
The quiet place is not as I had imagined -
I am not made whole in your absence;
there is just space.
so much time to waste.
- pklg -
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