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The Black

  • The Black

     
    in the pitch dark
    the wet boughs
    of the burnt palm—standing at the foot of a burnt hill—
    sing the song of silence…
    silence: full of ghostly echo piercing through
    ears, bones, flesh, and soul…
    with refrains
    ringing
    like a verdict of the court sentencing an innocent to death…
    grasshoppers subdued
    stones deaf
    trees numb
    landscape dumb…
    an ant slips off a stone for the hundredth time and
    a little … Continue reading