“My Rivers”
I cling to this wounded tree
forsaken in this sinkhole
that feels as dull
as a circus
before or after the show
and I watch
the calm passage
of clouds across the moon
This morning I stretched out
in an urn of water
and like a relic
rested
The Isonzo as it flowed
polished me
like one of its stones
I lifted
my bones
and walked out
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