Linda R. Quennec: For Thomas

Spring '13 TOC

 

That night I watched your twisting shadows lengthen and dive deep into the lake's glossy surface while I drank red wine and toasted two ends of a vast country. I rested for a moment, in the place where I first heard you speak of discordance. At that time, my children were merely imagined.

The salt has long seeped in, from tongue to vein, sent cloudy granules to alter my blood's composition, your familiarity now distant. I search for the smallest indications of your presence, but the water is always murky. The others are now housed with you, in oceans, in gardens.

on both sides.

 

 

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Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
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