D'accord

Ma soeur n'est pas née avant sa mort.

Calls out my name, Ohio

Plucking sentiment from lonely vines
watching the hanged man, until he's ripe
but not to die.

and it came with a whisper...

and it came with a whisper
the murmurs of time fell into pockets,
the new wholeness ringing a new tone.

the world, so wide to find itself restricted to
a few miles, heads bumping,
rooms whirring with the sounds of one hundred inflections.

how we found when our faces pressed together, that they were of the same clay

with a twist it went;
deep in the chest that had housed so many breaths,
our faces pressed and hardened in the sun forced apart,
and the pieces we lost on the ground will wear to dust.