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Light burns the books of light.

They hang a black wreath on

the page, a door snowed shut.

 

Stars spaced like cries at night,

the words of wind in fire’s ink,

fill up the lungs’ black skies.

 

Eyes in the words shine back.

The voice in letters like light

in an empty house is heard.

 

Teeth in white ashes, black

stars on the page shine down

like pain’s word in the mind.