In front of fire I read what you wrote

where scattered words were not contained by lines

chaos drenched in lead and heavy inked footnotes

lie disregarding truth where it was signed

 

From what I can decipher you end with

something in French or maybe Catalan

a morsel of the long forgotten myth

you told me was only seldom spoken

 

Written in code I sift through the commas

answers hidden in phrases I don’t know

metaphors or clauses in your clauses

while the afterglow shines your tobacco

 

Stained pages and smudges in dying light

how words keep changing to soot or cinder

What is seen as right to choose what to write

You left me with just splinters of wonder

 

 

 

 

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