Poème 10

Winter day


Counting rice. Counting people. Counting the hours

I have left. I pray for the sky to open up a hole and swallow me.

I crawl like a fetus and cry. I close my

tiny fists. Fear and trembling. As my thunder

splits the earth in two. 

Purify the water that will carry me. Take me back to where I come from.

Heavenly Father: Evaporate this capsule. Before I release

My fists. And the skies clear.

 Never to be confined again.

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