words trapped beneath layers of plaster
leave a residue of marble dust whispers

the silence
is an ancient silence
of trees with open wounds

resin bandages not yet positioned
or wrapped tightly

libations spilled
so long ago
the stains have faded

into ghosts of rappers
and saints splayed and vulnerable

the haunt walks out
the back door
free to roam

she wanders along an empty street
till a manhole entices her

she needs a permit to enter
this confined space
they need a permit to find her tucked inside

working letters
into worry stones

she would be a sea glass beachcomber
Baltic amber harvester
if she could stop biting her tongue

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