You’re as cold as the stone wall you built
around me, a thin layer of ice shielding that
The silence becomes of you.
It is unbecoming.
In these minutes and minute little seconds,
it gives me nothing but time to think.
There are cicadas here; they scream when
night breaks, but say nothing when you arrive,
and I envy them for that.
The crows fiddle away into their own homes,
beaks as black as that night sky.
There is no light here-
hardly any air.
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