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aperture :: nuar alsadir

by on May 1, 2016

I close the wardrobe, it opens.
I close the wardrobe, it opens.

Is that the way it will always be,
persistence as a form of flight;

my summons the rising and slamming tight
though rust will gather despite me?

I’ve folded my dresses, placed them
on shelves. I could affix

another hinge, but the walls
have become a cluster and repetition

a way to light—to light
through the absence it exposes.


From → poems

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