“Apertures” by A. Molotkov.

These are the days when nothing
stays long in our blood. Our hopes

are red rivers that run
into the heart
and die there.

Forgive me if I
wave even if you’re gone. In
our bodies

more is hidden than found. What light
defines this afternoon over the fields

and your eyes?
Tree rings; crow
feet. Red

rivers’ ending. Inside
and outside, vast
distances lie,

unexplored; a single life. The period
after this sentence is

a landmine.


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