Poetry

“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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