Close Your Book of Shadows: a poem for endings

mercury-liquid

Close your book of shadows

And rest it in the grate.

Then we’ll breathe in the pages

 

seeding our throats

with particles:

seeds that will not germinate.

 

Your stubble pierces my cheek.

Our tears mingling like globes of mercury.

They tremble together.

 

The pages in the grate

do not kindle,

but curl in,

bowing to us,

priestly.

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