Elegy on a Postcard

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Elegy Without a Corpse

Embedded in me you were,
we were flame lapping at fire,
the ruin reaped by the wind.
One day you left –
or maybe it was I that left,
one can never tell
entrances from exits –
and the whole Earth hollowed out,
geological history rewrote itself
to accommodate absence.
Whoever I ask will tell me
you were never there, you were
the tale read by the eye unfocused –
so good were you at pulling stunts
(or I at prestidigitation).
At sunset only
does your voice lie down
in the seat of my ear.

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