Practicing To Speak To Myself 

The stairs build bricking sunlight 
institute the temple, ruined,
become the throne I settle down on
and speak alone, practice 
to face myself. The crows 
catapult fruits and twigs at me, 
draire me gone, and I speak to them,
practice before I may 
speak to myself. Breeze leaves some
leaves green on my feet.
Those have been fledgling of the Spring.
I do not comprehend sacrifice.
I speak to the leaves, wish they had a full life,
practice in this broken heart of my city.
Evening take me, guides me to the stream 
I see my reflection, and because I have been 
talking all day I fund nothing more to say.



Two days in a row I have been speaking alone to no one. The effect of the heat?


Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor





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